Lost and Found in Kiev
by neurophysician73
Summary: Bernie has just bolted from AAU at Mach speed after telling Serena she has accepted the secondment in Ukraine. What happened the night before she left and how did it colour her visit to Kiev...? We begin in Holby then head over to Ukraine for serial glimpses of Major Wolfe's overseas journey. Some M rated sections.
1. Chapter 1

1

Thanks for choosing to explore this story. It's unashamedly medical in places but I hope that lends it some authenticity

A special thanks to people who post reviews - your encouragement is wonderful and if I may say so, inspiring x

 **September 2016. Bernie has just left AAU at Mach speed after telling Serena she has accepted the secondment in Ukraine..**

Bernie gripped the steering wheel. Christ. What was she thinking?.. Well. She had clearly ruined everything. No going back now. Serena was probably better off without Bernie Wolfe and her utter inability to express her emotions. Was it love…already….? Of course it was. Had Serena felt it too?…. Or maybe she was just caught up in a moment, faced with the prospect of separation? Not that there had been any time to find out. How had things dissolved so quickly – from being brave enough to suggest dinner at her place earlier today to bolting thousands of miles across Europe in the next 24 hours? Nice one Major Wolfe. Bloody perfect.

Beautiful, warm, fierce Serena. Could it have worked? No point thinking about that now. She glanced at the brochure for the Kiev City Hospital Trauma Centre, took a deep breath and drove home. The flat was finally looking like something resembling a home. She even had a stack of logs and kindling beside the woodburner – must get round to using it in winter. Thick rugs scattered across floorboards, a few framed photographs pinned onto on brick walls and wooden beams, mostly landscapes and temples taken by Cam on his travels in Burma. Seemed strange to think that Isaac lived in the same block. She wasn't sure she had the measure of Mr Mayfield just yet. Her thoughts turned to Dr Copeland - without realizing it she had really enjoyed having him around; on the wards and on the roof…it felt good to be honest in real time with at least one person at work.

The flat felt a bit cold. Why not test-drive that stove tonight? She struck a match and lit her carefully laid tapers. There was something soothing about watching the fire slowly roar to life. Mmmm. Must pack. Piles of clothes began to neatly tesserate into a large old rucksack. Yes…a suitcase with wheels would look more professional but she wasn't there to model travel accessories. What else? No doubt they would have everything she needed, but why not pack a couple of pairs of size 7.5 gloves and the blue stethoscope always went everywhere; sad but her neck felt bare without it.

A flash of recollection; Serena's adorable leopard print surgical caps, the way her stare intensified in theatre the moment she found the source of a bleed, the wordless questions she would ask Bernie mid procedure with a brief glance, wanting to know, needing to know they were going to get through it despite hideous odds and change a patient's life for the better. Ischaemic limbs, aneurysms, perforations, major haemhorrage; watching those dexterous hands perform miracles with torn and bleeding vessels… _This has to stop. Now_. Bernie reprimanded herself as she stuffed socks, scrubs (why?..), underwear, vests, shirts, trousers, jeans, toothbrush, mascara…

Kiev was a good idea. A chance for them both to recalibrate, for Serena to get this whole debacle out of her system if she wanted to. She started to compile a list to steady her thoughts - and her breathing... ; 1. Confirm with Hanssen that he found a decent locum; 2. E mail Dr Gregorian to confirm arrival time and ask him to send RTA and major haemorrhage protocol documents; make it clear not too much pen pushing and maximum theatre and teaching time; 3. Doctors accommodation or hotel? Worry about that one later, probably hotel; 4. might be good to visit the Kiev central military hospital, maybe they are already collaborating with….

The doorbell rang. Cam? She had told him to come round whenever he liked. He could stay in the flat if he wanted whilst she was away...She went to the intercom:

"Hello,….Cam is that you?..."

"Hello…?"

No response. He probably pressed the wrong button – typical. She buzzed him in and flicked the latch off the door. It would be good to see him before heading to Kiev tomorrow.

Except it wasn't Cam. Serena stood in the doorway, tentatively, but with her trademark resolute stare that made it absolutely clear there was nowhere to run. Not this time. She had a copy of the Kiev Trauma Centre brochure tucked under her arm and a bag that was crammed with ?what was it crammed with? … Bernie froze. She couldn't bear the idea of crossed words, had positively fled from the prospect earlier today but now there was no escape. Her heart felt like it had started to splinter into tiny fragments and they hadn't even exchanged a single word….


	2. Chapter 2

2

Serena's words caught in her throat. She had been over and over her opening lines in the car, wanting to set the scene for an honest conversation….. to get past the unbearable exchange on the ward. Christ that would be embarrassing tomorrow. Well. Never mind about that now. _Deep breaths Campbell_ ….

She set her bag down on the floor. It rolled over, crumpled and exhaled its contents onto the floor. _Great – what an entrance_... Two lemons rolled across the floor, followed by various other ingredients that she hoped within an hour or so would make the risotto of legends. At least the Shiraz had the decency to stay put. … Instinctively they both knelt on the floor, chasing after renegade citrus fruits, a squash, runaway peppers and rolling jars and bottles… as they reached into the bag to rehouse the runaways, Bernie's hand brushed Serena's knuckles. It was a fraction of touch, milliseconds, both of them now catapulted into that blurred milieu of aching want, stained with fear...and pain.. after today's revelations.

They both started to speak. Bernie barely managed to whisper Serena's name, the last syllable dying in her mouth. How could she be so fearless and decisive as a trauma surgeon, yet feel so utterly helpless here, in her own kitchen this evening? It wasn't rocket science. It was too easy to blindly stumble into that one wrong move (there had been too many of those today) that would cause Serena to get up and leave. Running this afternoon had left things open, unsaid. No chance to make things even worse. _Think Wolfe…..or better still, feel…but for god's sake, say something!.._ But Serena had managed to start talking.

"Bernie… I'm not here to persuade you to stay. After…..brief reflection,…..I think I understand why you have decided to go to…to.." she gestured to the brochure (She just couldn't say the word. In the Campbell lexicon, Kiev was simply Ukrainian for "thousands of horrible, painful, miles away for two entire months"). A flash of anger welled up in Serena's chest. She closed her eyes, needing a moment to feel privately before she could continue with her thoughts as a calm(ish), collected surgical colleague. How _could_ she _…..leave_ ….. ok. Onwards.

"I can see that you think we need time and space to decide what we want.…and this secondment will be good for your career ….. and for the trust. I…..get it…I do. But we can't simply leave things like this" – she gestured back and forth between them. Her eyes held Bernie's helpless stare, imploring her to come over so they could touch… Bernie read it,…..felt it…. but doubt crept in and she remained motionless.

"So…I'm going to cook, you can finish packing. Then we can talk like civilized human beings over dinner. I believe you did invite me round earlier today?...and if we are both honest, we were _never_ going to trust _you_ to cook…."

"Uhm…okay". Bernie nodded as she walked over to her rucksack. She saw Serena glance at her tired and ready to die travel reticule, raise an eyebrow and briefly smile before washing her hands. Bernie felt as though her packing was finished. Even if it wasn't she didn't feel confident that she could muster a single organized or practical thought; Serena had taken off her "it's too just orange. It makes my eyes hurt sometimes.." shirt (ah, Jason's tact…), muttering something about not getting it covered in oil. Her black vest outlined mouthwatering contours and curves Bernie had scarcely allowed herself to imagine under those loose fitting shirts and scrubs. She sat on her bed, crossed her legs and let her gaze travel along the back of Serena's neck, across her shoulders. Just for a moment or so she would be brave enough to sit and simply watch this gorgeous, feisty but fragile woman in her kitchen, collecting as many sensory impressions as possible. Two months was going to feel like a very, very long time.

The vascular surgeon was busy slicing onions and tossing them into warm butter, squeezing oil from sundried tomatoes between her thumb and forefinger, lifting small branches of basil to her nose, her chest rising as she inhaled before hacking them into aromatic flecks with her knife. Mascarpone cheese landed in a small bowl as she pushed each scoop from her spoon with her thumb, sucking it clean before glancing at her watch. Arborio rice clattered into her small cauldron, along with a glass of sauvignon blanc. She took a sip before pouring it in, grimacing and shuddering.

"Don't you dare pour the rest of it away" ….

"You're welcome to it, though in my opinion white wine is only fit for one thing - cooking... now Shiraz – don't get me started…"…Serena turned round to meet Bernie's stare, suddenly aware of how exposed she felt. God, it might have been better to ruin that bloody shirt that everyone seemed to hate… _What was_ I _thinking_? _Was Bernie disappointed?...horrified?...was this a dim lighting only scenario?_...She cleared her throat, embarrassed, and reached for her shirt.

"Please don't….unless you're…cold?"

"No, I'm not cold, I'm just…well…erm, that is…mmm". Her eyes closed tightly for a second before she turned round and ladled stock into her risotto.

The trauma surgeon leapt from the bed, resolute. She couldn't bear that despondent look – it was totally unfounded. She swallowed hard, feeling her breathing quicken and deepen as she stood behind Serena and slid her arms around her waist. She felt her chest rise and fall against Serena's back as she pulled her in closer, her chin resting lightly on her right shoulder. No words just yet, just touch. Bodies had a way of speaking a wordless language, forging a connection that transcended glib cliché's and diluted declarations of emotion. _Yes, yes, very poetic and philosophical_ , Bernie thought to herself, but in this case, words were very much necessary. "The truth is….the truth… is I think you are gorgeous, Serena Campbell. I have been watching you in my kitchen whilst _pretending_ to pack because I just can't concentrate on anything else while you stand there in that…..that vest, sucking m-mascarpone from your thumb, squeezing lemons and tomatoes with your bare hands and I don't know what. I mean it…..I…." She bit her lip….cautious of saying any more. Her thoughts had really become quite improper whilst staring at her on the bed, the guilty embers of imagined scenarios still a tangled knot in her stomach and if she was entirely honest, a faintly perceptible ache between her legs too. She felt Serena gently tighten her grip on her forearms and exhale – relieved? Content? About to say, "Get your hands off me immediately and hand me my shirt?.". She had to see her face to be sure.

Serena felt the trauma surgeon's arms fall from her waist. She turned to face her, watching her wrestle with something urgent and unsaid. Their eyes locked fiercely; Bernie's stare was imploring, needing this frightening, delicious woman to understand. Serena heard it all without Bernie uttering a single word.

"Berenice Wolfe"…Serena smiled as their foreheads met, her nose buried softly into Bernie's cheek…she whispered into her mouth…."I think that's the most you have managed to say in a single breath all day"…I know there's more but I won't insist…not just yet anyway…" Their lips grazed, slowly pressing together into a kiss, the split second of anticipation before Bernie's mouth opened, her tongue painting a brief linear trace on Serena's lips; a gentle, cautious suggestion to meet and explore the next step..

Serena kissed her back – hard and deep, no holds barred. As their tongues met, weeks of walled up attraction avalanched into the space between them. They grasped each other tighter; frenzied and breathless.

Serena moaned softly into Bernie's mouth; the trauma surgeon felt a sharp catch and rise in her stomach as if she had just fallen from a height. She pulled away; the hunger she felt at this moment for the vascular surgeon was almost too difficult to bear. She needed to know everything was okay, that they were tumbling in the right direction. Serena's eyes glinted; she smiled as she pulled Bernie closer. They kissed and held each other tightly, fingers tugging at borders between fabric and skin, both of them needing to feel the other.

"I"….It's…..". Her words collapsed into laboured breaths. "Going to be difficult to stop?.." asked Serena, smiling. Bernie nodded, returning the smile, grateful they were on the same page. Serena's glance flickered briefly to the kitchen. Bernie faltered. "Oh, god, did we ruin dinner? I'm Sor.." …"Of course not, I had the sense to slosh the rest of the stock in before I turned around to kiss you – why are you hungry…?". Bernie shook her head. She was actually ravenous, but not for the lovely risotto.

"Good. Instead we could….."…Serena couldn't say the words without sounding… gauche at best? adolescent at worst? "Let's get nearer to this fire shall we?" It was the best euphemism she could muster to warn the Major that they would probably be entirely naked sometime soon. Bernie turned off the kitchen light, grabbed a blanket and a couple of pillows from the bed and threw them in front of the wood burner. The look on her face was almost identical to when they had shook hands during a shared joke earlier that morning – a flirtatious, intense stare that suddenly made sense; it said: "I dare you to want me as much as I want you…"

They kissed, Bernie catching Serena's bottom lip with her mouth and sucking gently. Tongues, teasing, stroking as their mouths gently collided and crushed against each other, impossible to get close enough. The only sounds were lips connecting and reconnecting, sharp gasps and stuttering breaths against the searing crack of burning wood as it groaned and split, scattering sparks.


	3. Chapter 3

3 - Please note this chapter and the next are M rated.

Serena broke their kiss, breathless. She raised her arms above her head – it was a wordless statement…an invitation. Bernie's hands slid under the fabric and pushed it upwards. The vest fell to the floor, inviting her gaze and her fingertips to travel beyond all those stolen glances at work. Instinctively her mouth found Serena's neck, the southward line to her clavicles. She planted a kiss in one of her favourite places, that beautiful suprasternal notch; why was it so distracting on women, this one in particular..?... Serena's fingers tightened around Bernie's T shirt as she pulled it upwards. "off…please….I want to see you…." Within seconds they were grappling with bra straps, unfastened…pausing. Serena held Bernie's stare; her mouth went dry as she shifted her gaze to her body. She was utterly unprepared for the torrent of want that coursed through her; what was happening?...Some buried part of her simply ignited and knew exactly what it wanted to do.

They toppled into the fire warmed, rumpled folds of blanket. Serena pulled Bernie close, shivering as their bodies pressed together, both of them stifling moaned expletives as warm skin and taut nipples brushed against each other. She rolled the trauma surgeon her onto her back, cupping those exquisite breasts between her hands,….grazing a tentative thumb over her nipples before kissing every square centimetre of her chest. She stopped suddenly; a pained expression on her face. Her eyes glistened. She simply traced a line along the centre of Bernie's chest and turned her face away.

"Tell me….please…Serena?"….Bernie felt a stab of fear. Was it apprehension? A terrible mistake? Serena inhaled slowly, traced the line again staring intently as she did so before her eyes met Bernie's. Oh god. The light dawned. The sternotomy scar. "You could have… we might have…lost you". Serena sighed, resting her palm over the scar. Bernie smiled, pressing Serena's hand onto her chest. "I think Ollie's suture job has just had a pretty good road test. I don't think I've been this tachycardic since I went into VF in theatre!..." Bernie's jaw tightened. They couldn't decelerate. Not now. Not after all these weeks. "Please….Serena…..don't stop...it's…..it's never …"

She decided she would rather die on the spot than have to explain herself in further detail. It seemed words were not required. The vascular surgeon practically ripped Bernie's trousers from her legs, slipped out of her own and straddled her. Bernie felt her vision blur as Serena pinned her wrists and pressed her hips downward, their sex almost juxtaposed, separated by flimsy cotton. She tried to control the involuntary ricochet in her hips as Serena moved slowly back and forth. Her underwear shifted slightly; Bernie caught a trace of soft curled hair – wet; she felt it on her skin. She wrestled her right hand free, drowning in feral desperation to explore, to be inside her. She tugged at the vascular surgeon's underwear, a pleading glance to tear it off. Serena coaxed Bernie's hand across the border of rough elastic, those soft, curled hairs and stifled a cry as she found her.

The trauma surgeon immediately unraveled. She grappled Serena onto her back and tore off her underwear. She drove her thigh between Serena's legs, mouths pressed together, her fingers circling the firm, swollen ridge that threatened to reveal her clit at any moment. The vascular surgeon gripped Bernie's forearm tightly, imploring her not to stop, needing her to know how close she was. "I want you…"…it was a guttural, earthy plea, barely whispered. Bernie felt the catch in Serena's breath as she slid her fingers inside her. Serena gripped her hand, driving her deeper as she clutched at the small of her back. It started as firm, agonizingly slow thrusts; Bernie taking in every hidden contour as she bit her lip - a faltering attempt to wrest some degree of control. She moved faster, deeper, harder – Serena breathing her name, both of them driven wild by relentless urgency and need. Serena shuddered as Bernie gently pulled out her fingers and circled her clit. Her hips ground wildly against Bernie's touch – how could she get this so right?..She was so close….oh god it was happening…her clit blossomed into Bernie's hand as she came hard, biting into the trauma surgeon's neck, burying a strangled cry as her body shattered into blissful fragments.


	4. Chapter 4

4

"That was…it was….well, you've clearly had a lot of practice at that…"She smiled as Bernie gathered her into her arms. Serena found herself shyly surveying Bernie's lithe body; she ran her fingertips over her breasts, across her abdomen to the elastic of her underwear. She wanted to touch her so badly but would she make a complete hash of it?... She didn't want to ruin what had felt pitch perfect so far. Christ. Why hadn't she ever googled this? Watched a lesbian film to get a vague idea of what happens in there? _You're a surgeon for gods sake Campbell with an intimate knowledge of anatomy – how hard can it be?.._

She ached as she felt Bernie try to fight against the tension still coursing through her body, clearly reluctant to take Serena's hand across that elastic boundary. Serena pushed a fingertip underneath the fabric and traced a line across her abdomen, her breath caught as Bernie's hips angled upwards; her fists were clenched around twisted folds of blanket and she buried her face into the pillow. Bernie wanted her so urgently it was almost painful but she couldn't ask; it had to come from Serena.

"Em….is this okay...I want to…." Serena's face flushed. Her eyes flicked briefly to the breached boundary of fabric before meeting Bernie's eyes. Bernie held her gaze, trying to steady her breathing as she hooked her thumbs into her underwear and slid them towards her knees before kicking them off. The sight of Bernie completely naked smelted Serena's panic into raw, feral hunger. She ran her hands along the length of the trauma surgeon's torso, feeling her nipples stiffen as she grazed them with her teeth before sucking gently, firmly; shuddering as felt each nervous jolt of excitement course though Bernie's body. She slid her fingers along the very apex of her inner thigh, teasing; Bernie's pleading groans buried into the pillow. Serena traced a tentative finger between Bernie's legs, pushing deeper to find soft, wet, hidden contours. She was suddenly consumed with a need to taste, to explore with her mouth. Was this going to be okay? Was it something people did without prior discussion?...She couldn't think this one through – it just had to happen – now.

Serena planted a southward trail of tongue driven kisses along Bernie's abdomen, a warning shot that something a little unexpected was about to happen. She took her anterior superior iliac spines into her mouth, first one then the other, biting, licking the sharp inner ridge before traversing inferiorly to the border of skin and soft curled hairs. Bernie could barely breathe; of all the scenarios she had silently imagined over the last few months she had never strayed into this one. She and Alex had never… …and with Marcus it was something to be briefly tolerated rather than enjoyed. Would she really….was she really going to…Her thoughts stopped dead as Serena's mouth found her, sucking gently and circling her clit, tracing long, slow lines with her tongue. Bernie cried out, disarmed, desperate to hold on and experience this overwhelming feeling for more than a few minutes but it was going to be almost impossible. Her hips bucked wildly then settled into a slower rhythm, steadied by Serena's hands as she licked, kissed and sucked relentlessly, faster, deeper.

Serena could feel Bernie getting closer, her breathing rapid and stertorous. She couldn't get enough of these new sensations; her taste, how she felt against her mouth, and the seismic jolts through her body when Serena flicked her tongue across her clit. Bernie couldn't hold on any longer; she whispered through strangled, guttural breaths "….I'm,….It's…". She came hard, desperately trying to steady her hips so as not to lose contact with Serena Campbell's exquisite mouth.


	5. Chapter 5

5

Bernie pulled Serena into her arms, a little embarrassed it was all over so quickly. It had often been difficult to… get that far, to let go completely. With Alex there was always the fear of being discovered; with Marcus, as nice as it was, it had never felt like this.

"Are you sure you've never tried that before?" she quipped.

"Surprisingly no, but I do plan to try it again in the near future"…

Bernie turned to face the fading embers of the fire and pushed two logs into the charred remains. The near future was now two months away thanks to that oh so smart move to plan a getaway earlier. _Damn it Wolfe._ Eight weeks for them to process this alone, without each other. What if Serena panicked and decided it was all too much too soon? It didn't bear thinking about, not after what had just happened between them.

"Drink? Risotto? – I'm starving, can't think why.." Serena had pulled on Bernie's T shirt and was heading towards the kitchen. "You look a bit cold?..." – she threw Bernie's grey hoodie across to her. Bernie pulled it on, grateful to be less naked - she felt a little self conscious and wondered if Serena had spotted it. In fact, Serena's mind was elsewhere, replaying scenes from the last hour. Had all this really just happened? It had and it felt utterly glorious. She handed a glass to Bernie. A flicker of recollection caused a smile. Bernie caught it – "what are you thinking?"

Serena smiled- "I'm remembering us toasting our "undeniable sexual chemistry …..and saying no more about it" …

"Well, there hasn't been too much conversation this evening…"

Serena raised her glass - "Well – here's to our undeniable sexual chemistry….and _finally_ doing something about it…"

Neither of them could broach Kiev; things were just a little bit too magic at present to hurl that particular grenade into conversational territory. They simply stretched out in front of the fire, feasted on small bowls of warm risotto and sipped Shiraz - so wrong with this particular dish, but trying to get Serena to enjoy white wine was like feeding grass to a tiger...tried once, best left alone.

"Will you….uhm,…..I'd really like you to stay". Serena buried a wry smile. As if she would get up and leave!.. "Well, let me see…..yes,….yes I think I could be persuaded…kiss me and I'll think about it." Bernie took Serena's face into her hands and obliged, kissing her earnestly and deeply. Serena shuddered; she pulled away to steady her thoughts. It could all happen again (and again) so easily, but tomorrow morning was just going to get harder and harder. "Mmm. yes, go on then I'll stay. But we should stop there if we are ever going to get any sleep"..

Bernie still couldn't quite take in the fact that Serena Campbell was lying in her bed, in her arms, wrapped in her T shirt but otherwise naked, smiling as she drifted into sleep. She pulled her close; Serena murmured but didn't wake. The trauma surgeon fought against sleep, trying to elongate the night as long as possible but ultimately lost. She nestled into Serena's back and closed her eyes.

Serena woke to faint shafts of dawn light. For a split second she wondered if she had imagined the whole thing; as her senses adjusted she could feel Bernie's arm across her chest, her face buried into the base of her neck. It should have felt as delicious as it did last night but she started to grow nervous. Would Bernie panic and feel they had rushed things? Would she crush what they had started to build in case it toppled and collapsed anyway? Serena was falling fast for her, but she wasn't entirely oblivious to Bernie's blind fear of the future and her tendency to hypothesise over the one million ways they could possibly get this wrong.

Serena sat on the edge of the bed, trying to decide whether she had the strength to go through a repeat of what happened yesterday. It could be a perfect breakfast and a chance to say a proper, adult goodbye, to build a little more into their extraordinary but still fragile foundation. Or it could

be a panic fest of Bernie trying to talk them out of it and reverting to the "time and space" hypothesis. She decided she couldn't take the risk. If she felt vulnerable and wide open yesterday on the ward, this morning was that times a thousandfold. Better to leave now. She slipped into her clothes and after six attempts, wrote and pasted a note to the fridge.

B

Thanks for a fantastic evening. Decided to let you sleep. Goodbyes can be hard at the best of times but this one would have been too hard perhaps. Please call or write – I'll wait to hear from you so I know things are okay. Two months is not that long really. A visit at the half way mark?

Here's to the start of something very special.

S x

As she turned to leave, the note fell to the floor. She opened the door silently, took in one more glance at her beautiful, sleeping surgeon and left the flat. Roll on eight weeks.


	6. Chapter 6

6

Bernie woke with a start. Her bed was empty. Had she imagined it all? No – evidence gathering – two glasses, two bowls, the crumpled blanket by the spent fire. Incontrovertible evidence that it had all happened but where had Serena gone? She checked her phone – no messages. Christ. Had she decided it was all a huge mistake? Too much too soon? Regretting it all bitterly and passing it off as a one night phase? It didn't bear thinking about. Right. Only one thing to do. Stick to original guns and focus on the job in hand. Get to the Ukraine and give her time to think it through. No chasing or pestering. She would wait to hear from Serena. She had picked up many things as an Army medic, and one of the most valuable was the ability to bootstrap and batten down her emotions. Half an hour later she was showered, dressed and ready to go. Dishes done, rubbish sorted, the fire could wait.

There was a hand written note stuck to the floor under the breakfast bar. Bernie didn't see it.

She heard her cab pull up outside. She picked up her rucksack, stuffed in a couple of last minute items and left.


	7. Chapter 7

7

Kiev. Landing time 17:55 local time, +2hours GMT (thank goodness, minimal jet lag). Population approaching 3 million (should be busy). Languages – mostly Ukrainian and Russian (Couldn't speak a bloody word of either of them). The trauma unit looked like a logistical work of art, at least on paper; it covered a huge catchment area plus a collaborative nationwide agreement to accept complex cases, two heli pads, access to dedicated theatre space – no scrapping with elective lists and ward emergencies, high resolution scanning, and dedicated trauma rotas for all major surgical specialities. The Americans and Canadians had already left their mark on the place and she was pleased that stragglers from Baylor and Vancouver General would still be there to throw ideas around with her before they left. Bernie read the protocols Dr Gregorian sent at least six times on the flight from Bristol and again but with chocolate after connecting in Brussels. Nothing like filling one's head with facts and figures to sharpen the mind. _Please call. Please write._ _Please just say something._ _Anything._

Her welcome party consisted of two warm, gregarious American surgical residents from Baylor College of Medicine, a seriously credible trauma behemoth. "Hey Dr Wolfe, I'm Taylor Greenfield and this is Wendell Lewis. It's a real pleasure to meet you – we all think your work on field management of major haemorrhage and mass casualty incident protocol is awesome. Everyone's excited to get your thoughts on this place.." After much vigorous hand shaking they jumped in a taxi. The trauma surgeon smiled to herself; Dr Copeland would _really_ fancy Taylor,.

They sped into the city, Bernie managing to steer the conversation to how the Americans ended up in Ukraine and what they had been up to over the last couple of months, what she simply couldn't miss in Kiev and where to get decent coffee. They finally turned into Nazarivska Street and onto the University campus. "Dr G has us all in university accommodation – in the lecturer's residence blocks. It's pretty quiet and the views of the park are amazing at night. I know it's already late, but would you like a quick tour of the hospital? There is time, we're not meeting for dinner until eight". "A tour would be nice guys….thanks"- Bernie felt like she should spend as little time as possible alone…. at least for the time being.

She dropped her rucksack at the porter's lodge and picked up her key. She walked across the park with Taylor and Wendell, smiling as she listened to their registrar banter about the day – who had picked up the most procedural experience, who had managed to avoid scorn the longest from the visiting professor from Liepzig ("does _no-one_ learn anatomy _properly_ outside of _Germany_ …? Are you _sure_ you _graduated_ from medical school?..), their game plan tomorrow for getting into theatre 3 to assist on cardiothoracic cases for more scorn but brilliant teaching and whether Taylor had any chance of scoring with the pretty theatre nurse Maryna Yevtushok, otherwise known as "the eyes". "This is all classified Dr Wolfe…" She laughed – "Sure thing guys..".

The eyes indeed. She pushed against it hard, but couldn't stop her thoughts wandering to those beautiful, round, earnest brown eyes, so fiercely honest even when words couldn't be said. Wendell touched her shoulder. "Are you ok Dr Wolfe?...tired huh?" Bernie straightened her back. "A little perhaps… but come on, show me this hospital"

They wound through corridors of trauma heaven – theatres in full swing, ITU and HDU that actually had available beds, well stocked and staffed surgical wards and finally the "emergency village", a complex warren of acute medical and surgical units with the trauma centre at its core. Bernie caught a glance of the board – motorcycle crash, stabbing, fall from scaffold, pedestrian in RTC, assault – blunt trauma, crush injuries – timber plant, each entry plastered with names of interested surgeons and their specialty. Good. Plenty to keep her busy. "This is the office for international strays. Your desk is here. Dr Gregorian left you some IT details for you to send home in case anyone needs to reach you." _Deep breaths Wolfe_.

The international contingent met for dinner most nights at a local tapas and wine bar in Shevchenko park. Professor Hans Ecker, head of cardiothoracic Surgery at Leipzig University Hospital. Small, fierce and bespectacled but he had a warm smile and a wise glint in his eye; he would be a good secret whisky buddy. Dr Victoria de Haan, orthopaedic surgeon from Vancouver General Hospital. Her work on shattered knees was legendary - seriously creative stuff that changed lives. There was no competitive or pompous glare, she seemed genuinely delighted to collaborate and share ideas. There was an almost imperceptible rise in her right eyebrow as they shook hands. Did she know?...was she?... _oh come on, stop it._ Jed Engels, professor of trauma medicine from Baylor; a giant of a man with unusually slender hands. He clearly adored his two resident cubs but grilled them hard at every opportunity. Sweet – they evidently hero worshipped their handler, but it didn't stop them bantering with him about his terrible taste in rock music. She would have to look up what a "power ballad" was later. Jed turned to Bernie. "A pleasure to meet you Dr Wolfe, oh sorry – _Ms_ Wolfe. That's how you brit surgeons say it…right? Shame you missed Warwick, our vascular surgeon from UCLA. He left earlier today. Don't suppose you brought a spare one with you did you? He'll be missed!.." She mustered a wan smile. At least they were all missing a vascular surgeon this evening.

The great thing about dining with other doctors is how they love to talk about work to the exclusion of anything else. She wondered how well these lovely but work obsessed people had gotten to know each other over the last few months. Well. Thank god for small mercies – _and_ they all seemed to love _Rioja_ despite the extensive choice on the wine list. This Shiraz free zone would do just fine.

Bernie collapsed onto her bed, grateful for the numbing effect of Rioja and hours of travelling and trading surgical talk over dinner. She glanced at her phone. An e mail from Hanssen wishing her success on the secondment and requesting contact details in case anyone needed them. A text message from Cam telling her to have fun and to fetch him something cool. She put her head under a pillow, twisting folds of it into her hands and refusing to feel. She just couldn't go there. She knew she had been right on the ward – time and space rather than running head first and smashing everything into little pieces. But _why_ had she run off in the night, with absolutely no attempt to explain?

Bernie sat up and buried her face into her hands. She breathed hard. Marcus, Alex and now…Serena. What a complete _f***ing_ disaster zone, entirely of her own making. Her eyes stung. Crying wouldn't solve anything. She fell into bed, pulled the duvet over her head and fell into a miserable slumber.


	8. Chapter 8

8

It was almost the end of week two. There was nothing better than a tightly packed routine to assist one running at the speed of light from honest thoughts and feelings. Bernie rose at 6:30am, showered and dressed in a tired blur and by seven was marching across the park to "croissant and coffee", a great little kiosk off Tarasa Shevchenko Boulevard. The smell of freshly brewed Sumatran coffee mingled with aromas of baking pampushky bread, buttery pastries and warm spiced fig jam enabled the day to make sense for at least 20 minutes or so. Serena would love this place; breakfast in the park each morning before heading into hospital… _oh just stop it will you?._ The problem was that every ten minutes or so, something or someone triggered a Serena-esque memory or thought. How could so _many_ things be relevant to _one_ bloody person _so_ many times in a day?..The truth was that she just couldn't stop thinking about her.

Her timetable was filled with trauma protocol reviews, combining thoughts with Jed, Victoria and Hans on regional and national teaching programmes, and best of all, relentless hours of either observing, assisting or leading in theatre. Her Ukrainian consultant colleagues were highly skilled and eager to compare notes; goodness knows how Ruslan Artyuschenko had heard about the "tale of the atriocaval shunt"?..Hanssen?(apparently horrified by the whole thing but she knew deep, deep down he was impressed).

It was great having so many pairs of skilled hands without too much ego clashing but she missed having juniors around; at present it was very top heavy and would remain so until the trauma centre was fully up and running. Taylor and Wendell were truly spoilt for choice in this respect, but she noticed they couldn't get enough of the steely Professor Ecker in theatre 3. She decided she would have to get in on one of his cases this afternoon to see what the fuss was all about. Today was the day it seemed – 43 year old male, incoming RTC with blunt chest trauma and crush injuries to both legs. Hans and his cubs would fix the pseudoaneurysm on the aortic ishthmus whilst she and Victoria tried to salvage the legs.

It was immediately clear why Taylor pledged allegiance to theatre 3; as amiably as he endured cardiothoracics it was clearly Wendell's natural territory. Theatre 3 was the lair of "the eyes" however and she had to give it to Taylor; those unusually cornflower blue peepers really were a sight to behold. "Time for a little fun Dr Wolfe, don't you think?.." – Victoria winked at Bernie and said: "Nurse Yevtushok, I wonder if you would be so kind as to lend a hand to Dr Wolfe and I?" Taylor scowled as his ocular prey sashayed south from cardiothoracic territory to trauma and orthopaedics. "If it's too crowded around the sternotomy site Dr Greenfield, you know where we are….now then Dr Wolfe, would you mind playing vascular surgeon for me?" …. Bernie felt that sickening lurch in the pit of her stomach every time those two words were uttered. It just wouldn't go away. _Focus, for god's sake just focus…_

Wendell had opened the chest and drained the tamponade by the time Hans arrived. He gave a single nod of approval before taking the helm. "Now zen Lewis and Greenfield, a few language basics. Tell me how many body parts you can name in Ukrainian". Wendell was prepped – "Brain – mozok, heart – sertse, stomach – shlunok, liver- pechinku, kidney – nyrka, …", the list went on and on.

Go Wendell. She was duly rewarded by assisting his extremely deft repair of the aortic isthmus. He was impressively stern but it was subtly clear he was delighted with his temporary protege. Mmm. Taylor was having a bad day – time to rescue him. "Dr Greenfield we could use an extra pair of hands down here".. his eyes gleamed as he positioned himself directly across from nurse Yevtushok.

Victoria was easy to work with – fast, systematic, extremely skilled and continually on the hunt for better ways to do things. As things stabilised, questions inevitably came. It was easy to deflect them over dinner with six people talking at once but not here.

"So, are you missing England already?"

"I haven't really thought about it (liar), things have been so busy here".

"Is someone covering your admissions unit?"

"Well, they did arrange a locum but I co-lead it with another surgeon".

"Ah, I think I saw that in Dr G's e mails – another female surgeon right? Susan? Stephanie?.."

"Serena Campbell – yes we..er.. run it…together" Bernie's eyes shifted to the floor for a split second. It felt difficult to breathe.

"I bet she can't wait to have you back!" Bernie swallowed hard. " Do you still need me? It's just that I promised I'd look in on theatre 4" …

"No, that's fine we're practically done here – see you later."

Bernie spent the next three hours with Jed in back to back procedures. No time for extra-curricular conversation in theatre 4; it was famed for hyper acute cases where one had to just get on with it as quickly as possible. When she arrived back at her room later that evening, there were two notes on the floor:

Bernie. I'm really sorry. I think I touched a nerve today. That wasn't my intention. Drink so I can apologise in person? I'm ground floor, room 12 block B if you want to drop by.

Vic

Dr Wolfe

I think perhaps it has been a long day for all of us. If you would care to have a glass of spirits with me, my room can be found on the second floor of your block (A) – 207. Hans.

Mmm. Would it be greedy to take them both up on these offers. She decided that was exactly what she should do. Hans first – he would be less inquisitive about emotions. Or so she thought….

She rapped on the door of room 207. "Come in Dr Wolfe".. She pushed the door open gingerly and suddenly felt like she had stepped through a window into another era. The second floor rooms were unmodernised, and in her opinion, much nicer for it. Hans was sat at an old mahogany desk scattered with annotated journal articles. His bookcase was crammed with old, well thumbed texts in German, English and Russian and yellowed maps of Asia minor adorned the walls. "Did you bring that with you?" She gestured to the large brass microscope on the desk. "I did indeed. Carl Zeiss, model Jena IVa, this particular example was made in 1905. You can fit modern lenses to it though – see? I never did leave behind my love of pathology. I do think we should occasionally look at those pieces of tissue we cut out, for interest. Would you like to see? "

Bernie peered down the barrels. It almost felt like a test, but she knew he was simply delighted to show her bits of his collection. "Lung?" "Yes. A case of measles pneumonia from 1924 – see the giant cells?" She did wonder if another 257 vintage pathology slides were coming her way (as long as there was whisky, so be it..) but Hans switched off his desk lamp and made for the drawer of his desk. "so. I have Japanese or Indian whisky, French brandy and the local offering – Horilka. I do not recommend however. It tastes like petrol infused with cherries but you may disagree perhaps?"

"Whisky is fine, thanks". They sank into the two armchairs by the old fireplace, clearly still functional as there were charred logs in the grate.

"You developed a taste for whisky in the army I suspect Dr Wolfe?...me too".

"Hans? I didn't know you were….."

"It was a long time ago, but you never forget those years. I never regretted leaving though. I thought my life was complete as a soldier but in fact it was an elaborate hiding place". He pulled a crumpled photograph out of his wallet. "My wife Else. Fierce and very beautiful. And four inches taller than me. She asked me to choose. It wasn't difficult. I think perhaps it _has_ been difficult for you however?...May I say it is a very clean suture line…"

Of course. As if a cardiothoracic surgeon was going to miss the tip of that scar. "Leaving the army was all very sudden and unexpected, yes. An IED hit a vehicle I was travelling in and before I knew it I was back in Britain with serious injuries and some very big decisions to make. Initially I felt like I had decided to leave the army for other people but ultimately I decided not to go back for me". Hans raised his glass - "to making life changing decisions". They smiled and took a gulp of whisky. Wow. That Japanese single malt was good stuff.

"Forgive me Dr Wolfe-"

"Call me Bernie please".

"Very well. Bernie. May I offer an observation?"

"By all means (thank god the whisky glass was still half full…)"

"Dr de Haan's questions in theatre today made you somewhat uncomfortable. Although you deflected her enquiries politely, they were clearly very difficult to tolerate. Of course you may choose not to answer but may I ask why?"

"I'm not sure I understand…" It was a feeble attempt to evade his question and when she caught his stare, it's warmth and wisdom told her it would be pointless to try and lie. She remained silent.

"Mmmm. I have spent the last thirty five years of my life working with masked individuals who from time to time are only able to communicate with their eyes. I think I have seen almost every permutation of human emotion conveyed in this manner. The mention of your place of work in Britain caused you pain, and this intensified exponentially when your co surgeon, Dr Campbell was mentioned. It was not anger or bitterness, but instead…how do you say….yearning? As if you missed her… _terribly_ and could not _bear_ to speak of her. As such, you elected to join Dr Engels in theatre 4 as a matter of urgency, where further questions would be kept to an absolute minimum."

Who was this guy? A German Sherlock Holmes?

"Yes….I miss her…very much. But I can't talk about it Hans. I'm sorry."

"No need for apologies. Just know that I _see_ and if you ever need talking or distraction, come and drink whisky – it is very good analgesia for these things - yes?.."

"Yes - indeed."

They clinked glasses once more and drained the contents. Bernie shook his hand.

"Thanks Hans – I'm glad we did this"

"Me too – see you tomorrow.."

As Bernie walked across to B block, she could see Victoria's room lights were out. She would try and catch her tomorrow. The evening was warm; the darkening sky was littered with coils of orange cloud and the air was threaded with scents of mown grass and damp leaves. It would have been positively criminal not to stay outside and walk across the park to the Georgian restaurant everyone raved about. Khachapuri, chicken kebabs, pickled vegetables (bleugh! but one has to try them..) washed down with a glass or three of decent Georgian wine. Bernie started to settle into her reality; it was pointless running. It was time to accept that Serena would pervade her thoughts on a daily basis; in fact that bittersweet ache had already started to become familiar. If she was entirely honest with herself, she had been in love with her for some time but never dared hope it would progress as far as it did the night before she left. Maybe if she left it alone for long enough they could slowly piece things together again when she returned? Possibly but she shouldn't get her hopes up. Just get the job done and get home.

The cubs were right – the park really was lovely at night. She walked along lamplit twisting paths, flanked by tall, jagged spires of trees. A sudden movement in the distance captured her gaze – two figures walking, fingers interlocked, staring at each other intently. Two….women? It was subtle but unmistakeable intimacy. Boy did she know all about intensive, slow burn chemistry these days. Bernie stopped to absorb the scene in a little more detail. It was Victoria; the other woman was vaguely familiar but difficult to be sure in the dark. Their fingers slowly unlocked, enabling them to embrace before parting company. There was something about the way Victoria gathered this woman into her arms; even though it was brief, perhaps just a few seconds, it was clear she wanted much more of her than she could have tonight, for whatever reason.

Well well Dr Victoria de Haan. Batting sixes for the other side of the fence perhaps?. Bernie resolved she would ask her for that drink at some point.


	9. Chapter 9

9

Week four. Dr Gregorian had a proposition for Bernie; no details until they met face to face. So be it. She practically jogged over from croissant and coffee, a little conscious that perhaps she did languish a little too long over there sometimes – who wouldn't? It really was olfactory and gustatory heaven…endless options of pastry laced with spiced jam salves especially designed for trauma surgeons pretending not to pine away..

He was waiting for her in her office. "Good morning Dr Wolfe. I trust you had a good breakfast?" He seemed to fixate a little too intently on the left corner of her mouth before glancing down at her coffee cup. Her tongue flicked discreetly to remove the small culprit splotch of jam at the said fixation point. "Er, yes, excellent, thankyou. You wanted to discuss a trip?.."

"I do. An overnight stay at Kharkiv National Medical University. There is an orthopaedics and traumatology centre situated there and they would be most keen to receive you. Dr de Haan visited last month, which was a great success."

 _No pressure then…._

"Sounds good. What do they want with me exactly – is it far?"

"They are keen to discuss trauma protocols and reception of military cases. We can arrange flights. It is one hour from Kiev and the campus accommodation is very comfortable. Could we send you in three days? This will enable us to re-arrange theatre cover"

"Sure. Sounds great"

Kharkiv. The second largest city in Ukraine. The National Medical University was part of a giant, sprawling, grey-white stone empire that hid an unexpectedly green interior. Most importantly, approximately every third person was holding a coffee cup and appeared to be enjoying what they were drinking. Excellent. She made her way to the traumatology centre, where Drs Fedir Andrushko and Gyorgyi Gryglewicz were ready with warm greetings and positively bone crushing handshakes. Clearly orthopods, the two of them...

"Dr Wolfe! We are so happy to receive you. Your journey was pleasant? Let's get you settled in and we will show you around. I hope you do not mind – we have many protocols to discuss with you and we would be most grateful for your opinions on our military trauma cases."

"Sounds interesting _(and incredibly intense..)_ . I'd be delighted to hear more..."

They wound their way through the wood panelled corridors of the medical school, skirting round occasional elephant or bear skeletons, and cabinets festooned with sepia photographs and tarnished medals from prize winning students of olde. Bernie couldn't help but feel a little nostalgic seeing the familiar ocean of fresh faced students donned proudly in white coats, books tucked under arms, scuttling from lectures to practical demonstrations to ward rounds. She had started seeing Marcus during their first clinical year; they rotated through the same firms and his rugby jock humour was refreshingly self deprecating and funny. It felt like a solid partnership from early in their relationship and it was pretty clear they were going to make a go of it long term, despite the inevitable distance for long periods when Bernie went on tour. At least from that point of view Marcus walked into their marriage with his eyes open; she had joined the army as a medical student. Marcus was easy, familiar, straightforward and he made her happy for the most part. In some ways maybe it was a good thing she hadn't experienced the complete chaos and intensity of her feelings for women until a few years ago.

Marcus. He didn't deserve the lies, he-

"Dr Wolfe?"

"Sorry,…sorry. You were saying?.."

"Of course. We are meeting with the traumatology surgeons in an hour. Perhaps a brief tour of theatres and the military wing beforehand?"

"Great. Let's go" _Focus Wolfe.._

Theatres were in full swing when they arrived; mostly elective orthopaedic conundrums, with a few trauma cases slotted in here and there. The military wing only had a few patients and it was striking how many subacute presentations seemed to pass through the doors. What happened to major haemorrhage or complex blast injuries? Was there somewhere closer to the frontline?

"Mmm. There is Hospital 1 in Mariupol, a few kilometres from the front. We know little of it's internal details but they do send on most of the cases we receive."

"How are patients transferred here?"

"By road at present. There is no air travel from Mariupol at present."

Christ. So only patients that can survive a 4 hour journey in a pre 1950's ambulance with almost no life support kit. They should have sent her to Mariupol, where she was really needed.

"Do you have any data on the range of cases coming through Mariupol?"

"A team of international doctors did visit recently; they presented their findings to us just two weeks ago. I can locate the report for you. Between us Dr Wolfe, the hospital badly needs more resources. And doctors. We hope the report may change things for the better but it is very complex. Pro-Russian doctors may not wish to treat Ukrainian soldiers and Ukrainian military doctors are reluctant to work in civilian hospitals. You see?"

"Yes, sadly – I think I do".

The rest of the day was spent poring over trauma protocols and the teaching programme for their annual residential course. It was all pretty good but the new centre in Kiev was positively space age in comparison. Perhaps Kharkiv would come next once Kiev had consistent proof of concept. Dr Gryglewicz had dug out the Mariupol report and handed a copy to her over lunch. She would read it later and strongly recommend investment but no doubt the report had already mentioned that in bold letters.

Finally - a couple of hours off before dinner. Bernie found a spare patch of lawn underneath a Robinia tree. There was something about the way sunlight bathed these delicate trees that made them lemon-green-gold and magnificent; however, as tempting as it was to lie there and stare at those dappled leaves, she had a report to digest before dinner. It was harrowing reading but not unexpected. A threadbare hospital, woefully understaffed and under resourced with no efficient mechanism of rapid transport to better equipped centres. There was a photograph of the visiting team on the last page; unfortunately now drenched in coffee as Bernie gulped and spluttered at the sight of Alex amongst them. After a triple take, she read the titles under the photograph. There she was; Dr Alex Dawson, Anaesthetist, Medicins du Monde (UK). Typical, amazing Alex. Running gallantly around the world with an NGO after having her heart broken by none other than yours truly. Descent into booze and rebound sex was terribly over rated it seemed…. Was she still here in the Ukraine? She would ask Gyorgyi and Fedir later. They hadn't had a shred of contact since parting at the hospital in June. If she was entirely honest it still felt raw sometimes, perhaps even unfinished but ultimately Alex was so entangled with the break-up of her family there wouldn't have been any chance of survival.

Something shifted irreversibly when they met. Bernie hadn't recognised it as attraction at the time. Within weeks, she found herself drawn to small visual details; her eyes, the base of her neck, strong hands, delicate wrists. Her disarming smile that made everything better. They often chatted into the night, at first about cases, later trading details about life outside the army, shared predilections for good chocolate and even better whisky and then one night Alex told Bernie she was gay. The fragile barrier between them collapsed; the question at that point was never _if_ but simply _when_. The mission now centered on how stealthily they could wade through the rubble to find each other without anyone else noticing.

And so it began. Week upon week of steady retraction of personal space, brief tactile exchanges and intensive ocular conversations. How could something so faintly perceptible feel almost incendiary?...Finally, after one too many glasses of single malt, Bernie managed to mumble that she had erm,..er,…uhm…developed feelings for Alex. It was a pale euphemism really for the fact that she was falling hard and fast for her and she didn't have a clue what to do with all these wild feelings and sensations that prevented any semblance of restful sleep. Alex responded by simply asking her to check supplies with her as there had been problems earlier today in theatre. It was a completely irrelevant response to such a major confession but Bernie was so dumbfounded by it she simply padded across to the storeroom three steps behind Alex. Had she not heard? Was this something to be instantly and deeply buried in the sand? As Alex closed the door behind them everything made sense. This was one of the few windowless buildings on site and all checks for the evening were completed by the ODP's at five. No disturbances until at least eight.

What happened in that storeroom changed things forever. It was very clear from the start that this was no temporary experiment, and that ultimately it would have devastating consequences for her, Marcus, Cam and Charlotte as a family unit. Because of that, it was too easy to tuck everything away into a mental and emotional compartment labeled "to be dealt with later"; to lie to oneself (and others) about the distance factor, or pretending there was never quite enough time at home to explain properly. Cam was right. She should have been honest about it all years ago, but a small part of her wanted to run away from the intensity of her feelings for Alex, the secrecy and guilt, to play by the rules and to at least try to make it work with Marcus. The IED incident had unexpectedly provided a chance, offering her the coward's way out. What a spectacularly disastrous move for everyone concerned.

Christ. Ten to eight already. She raced across to Myronosytska Street where Gyorgyi and Fedir were waiting for her outside restaurant Shoti, apparently legendary for Georgian food. Yum. No pickled vegetable ordeals tonight though. The evening ebbed away pleasantly, smoothed along by decent bottles of red wine and Fedir's dark sense of humour. They sparred over corruption and freedom of speech in Russian and Ukrainian politics, the Brexit debacle, the pending US elections and the enigma of Donald Trump. Was it a wig or a sleeping kitten on his head? Was there a functioning brain underneath it? Was Hilary actually dodgy or was it all speculation? These two would have fun in Kiev; they should keep an eye out for jobs.

The day finally came to an end. Gyorgyi and Fedir walked her back to her room and bade farewell. Bernie packed up her rucksack and thought through her itinerary. Other than barking at the head of department for burying his head in the sand regarding Mariupol Hospital and scribbling amendments on a good thirty or so trauma protocol documents, she wasn't sure she had achieved anything else today. It had felt good earlier to reflect under that beautiful Robinia tree on what had happened with Marcus and Alex in a little more detail however. Gyorgyi confirmed that Alex had left with the others from Medicins du Monde two weeks ago; they were heading to Sierra Leone for two months. Mmmm. It would never feel completely finished with Alex but her feelings for Serena were so overwhelming she felt okay about this remaining jagged edge. It would wear away with time perhaps.

Serena. She had almost managed an entire day without thinking of her. She pulled her phone out of her pocket; still no word. Had she leapt in the right direction? Unequivocally yes. This was an inexorably forward step, however precarious it felt at this moment. Even if things had dissolved completely, that one night taught her so many things about what sex with another woman could be like. Had she crossed the Rubicon? Not entirely, but she was definitely wading further and further in and the warmth of the river felt both delicious and dangerous.

Time to get some sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

10

It was official. The trauma centre was running like state of the art clockwork. What should have taken months actually only took six weeks. Still it had felt like half a lifetime in some respects – still no word from Serena. Dr Gregorian asked Bernie if she wanted to stay on to train staff; why not? She wasn't officially due back for weeks and there didn't appear to be anything to rush home for except the smouldering smithereens of recently broken relationships. Clearly not her forte it seemed. Her international contingent had also agreed to stay on for a few weeks so they could divide educational duties and look in on the new well oiled machine from time to time. Dinner that evening was a frenzied mix of plotting, scheduling, sparring and finally delegating across timetable sheets splashed with rioja and marker pens. By the end of the week they had their curriculum finalised and who would do what, where and when.

Ah, finally. Some juniors to bark at – otherwise known as "teaching". Not in theatre however but in the simulation lab. Bernie, Jed and Victoria had been rostered to teach their pilot version of "Principles of Advanced Trauma Life Support" with Taylor and Wendell on hand to ensure the day ran smoothly. It was actually quite rewarding turning hesitant young doctors into gung-ho wannabe trauma surgeons. Regularly timed coffee breaks kept thing civilized too, and Taylor was fast enough to get to "croissant and coffee" and back with the heavenly beverage before time was up.

Bernie opted to run the major haemorrhage scenario with Wendell, who was very sweet but one did wonder what she did for fun. She had a wonderfully earnest quality, and every spare moment she had appeared to be spent practicing sutures on a piece of sponge she kept in her pocket. On closer inspection she appeared to be trying to emulate a pre run line of sutures on the left hand side of it. Cute. She recalled seeing the sponge on Hans' desk; he must set her little dexterity challenges. "Hey Wendell – missing theatre 3?" Wendell blushed and stuffed the sponge back in her pocket; "If I'm honest, I do kinda, but this is fun too. I thought Artem was gonna push that intraosseous needle right through the back of dummy annie's tib!..". He had been a little zealous perhaps; it did take three of them to wrench it back out again. "Tell me you don't curl up with that sponge at night instead of going out and having fun with Taylor." "Well, I do practice late into the night _sometimes_ , but the theatre nurses have been showing me the town and I do like to curl up with non surgical books. I have a secret weakness for foreign crime novels. My parents think it's totally unnatural; they're both literature professors so anything post Dickens or Hemingway is seen as trash. I literally have to hide them under my mattress when I visit. Seriously, I think they would rather find porn or crack under there…" Bernie roared with laughter; Wendell had a much sharper sense of humour than that earnest demeanour suggested.

Early evening; Bernie felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She pulled it out as she was leaving the sim lab for the day and almost dropped it. An e-mail from Serena entitled "What next?..." She couldn't bring herself to look at it. She stuffed her phone back in her pocket (on silent – no buzzing reminders of unread messages thankyou) and marched towards the tapas bar for teaching talk, those delicious salted cod croquettes and an entire bottle of Rioja. Her comrades didn't disappoint. Jed and Hans were squabbling over lecture slides; Wendell was pretending to be nurse Yevtushok, covering her face with her palm and blinking at Taylor, who flicked Manchego slices at her in retaliation. Victoria arrived later, flushed, smiling and it seemed very hungry; pumpkin salad, beef cheeks, crispy chicken and honeyed aubergine disappeared within minutes. "Wow, did you and Anna go for a _run_ again" quipped Taylor, who seemed to know something the rest of the table did not. Victoria bit her lip and smiled into her glass of Rioja, clearly refusing to take the bait.

They headed back to the lecturer's residence en masse. "Hey Bernie, we never did go for that drink – how about tonight?" Victoria had caught up with her as she trudged across to block A.

"Er….sure, where do you want to meet?"

"Do you do gin?"

"I'm more of a whisky type but I could make an exception.."

"Great – how about Bombay Sapphire in 20 minutes?. Exit the park on the South West Corner and you can't miss it. Someone might join us later if that's ok – I'd like you two to meet"

"Sure, ok – see you in a bit".

It was time to stop being spineless and read this bloody e mail. Deep breath. Damn it. The words were everything she dreaded. Brief. Confrontational. Cold. Clinical. Nameless.

 _I'm tired of being angry. It's time to come back. The Hospital needs you._

Of course she had every right to be tired and angry. Saddled with overseeing a trauma bay run by random Larry locums for weeks on end. _The Hospital needs you_ – that particularly stung _._ Not a single word that conveyed any glimmer of hope; that door had clearly been slammed shut, locked and the key thrown into the long grass. Mmmm. It was going to take a hell of a lot of gin to blot this out.

Bombay Sapphire didn't disappoint. Victoria already had some glasses lined up. "Hey Bernie, I tried to guess but couldn't figure out if you were neat or with tonic so here's both. What shall we drink to?..". "uhm, how about a job well done…" Their glasses collided and down went the first dose. Victoria squeezed Bernie's arm gently; "Bernie, there's something I wanted to talk to you about…" "Okay, I'm listening"; she tried not flinch from the warmth of Victoria's hand. "I think we have become friends and so I want to know that you are okay with what I'm about to say. You saw me in the park late one night a few weeks ago….walking with someone?" Bernie nodded. "Her name is Anna Rickards. She's a consult-liaison psychiatrist visiting from Vancouver General." There was a momentary silence. Bernie looked at Victoria, recognizing that familiar precipice the orthopaedic surgeon now stood on; give in to the urge to burst and wax lyrical about Dr Rickards or change the subject in case one had made a catastrophic miscalculation. She wanted Victoria to know she was in safe hands but couldn't quite find the right words.

"You seem…close. Have you known each other long?"

"We met four years ago, working on a case together. We had an artillery sergeant from the BC Military Hospital. He thought microchips had been planted in his prosthetic joint and wanted to rip it out. She was fantastic. We thought he was an undiagnosed schizophrenic but she was convinced he was delirious secondary to an infection – sure enough we found the abscess. He needed antibiotics not antipsychotics. She asked me out for a drink and told me she was attracted to me but that staying as friends was okay too. I still can't believe she just came out with it – just like that, no hesitation!...we still laugh about it"

"So you decided to become more than just friends?"

"It wasn't a difficult decision. I hadn't been able to stop staring at her since the moment she arrived on the ward to consult on the case. I still can't take my eyes off her even now, four years later. It's why I insisted she came out here with me and found something useful to do so we didn't have to be apart for months. We have kept it under wraps though; only you and Taylor know about us. The Ukraine isn't well known for it's…em….. tolerant stance on same sex relationships"

"Understood"

They took another round of gin, clinking glasses.

"Here's to being brave enough to cut to the chase?"

Bernie sighed, replying "If only..…"

"That's a little defeatist Dr Wolfe?.."

She frowned. "Sorry. sorry. I….er…..well, I think I've just had a glimpse of that type of happiness and now it's gone…for good"

"Are you sure?"

Bernie pulled her phone out of her pocket and gave it to Victoria. "Press the mail envelope".

Victoria read Serena's words and smiled. "Forgive me Bernie, but you aren't so good at reading between the lines are you?"

"What do you mean? "

"Well,… it's clear to me that all you need to do is replace the words " _the hospital_ " with " _I_ " and then you have the real message".

"Mmm. Thanks for trying to cheer me up Vic but that's just wishful thinking". God how she wished that were true. She would set off now.

"Do you mind me asking how you guys left things?"

Bernie stared at the floor, aware of her face burning. "Uhm, well, earlier that day she told me she didn't want me to leave,…..but I was scared we were rushing things and that it would ruin everything. I told her I was coming here and that we needed time and space to think about everything and she took it…very badly. I pretty much ran from the hospital. Yes, I _was_ that stupid f***ing coward who just left her standing there on the ward. Do you know the best part?... She actually came round to my place later that evening so we could talk it through like adults."

"And did you?..."

" We built a fire, made dinner and…and"

"Found a _better_ way to have the conversation?..."

"It was incredible. I'm not sure I've ever felt like that when…uhm. She fell asleep in my arms. When I woke in the morning she was gone"

"Did she leave a note? send a text?"

"No, nothing. This is the first contact we've had"

"You mean you haven't tried to contact her _at all_ since you got here?"

"Well…no. I wanted to give her space.."

"Okay. And we're sat here wondering why she might be… _angry_?...Jesus Bernie, you have a _lot_ to learn about women…" Victoria shook her head and smiled, put her arm around Bernie's shoulder and pulled her close.

They wound their way back through the park.

"Thanks for tonight Vic – it was good to talk things through"

"Hey, anytime. I mean it though. Don't give up hope just yet..! Happy to translate any more messages that come through by the way, until you pick up the arcane language of the fairer sex…actually, for the price of a gin, I'll even write your replies…."

"Thank you Dr de Haan, very funny indeed…sleep well"

Bernie turned the key in the door to her room, went inside and steadied herself against the wall. Her head was swimming. It was difficult to breathe. She tore off her clothes and collapsed onto the bed. As good as it felt to be honest with Victoria this evening, she had stirred something dangerous – hope. Was Serena reaching out – hurt and therefore spiky, bewildered at the lack of contact? It was plausible… She lay on her back and closed her eyes, slowly tracing her fingertips across her chest, down her abdomen. Almost every night she lay there, replaying fragments of that wonderful, feral get gentle physicality. As much as she could intellectualise her thoughts and feelings, her body refused to be quiet. She quickly learned that the only way to get any sleep was to give in to this ritual of need; tracing soothing lines with her fingers as she listened to her body scream for Serena's whereabouts. How could so many extraordinary images and tactile memories spring from just one night?

Her journey always ended at her anterior superior iliac spines. She pressed her thumbs along those sharp inner borders, recalling the extraordinary traverse Serena made across her torso with that sensual mouth. She bargained with herself usually to shut down further recall at this point or at least to blot out the next six minutes or so, initially pretending to herself either that she was embarrassed or that it wouldn't be appropriate given the uncertainty of how things stood between them. The truth was that made it so much easier to stick to her resolve not to allow her fingers to travel further south, which would invariably unleash a whole other level of want and need that might not easily be silenced. Worse still, if she managed to let go, her last remaining barriers would probably crumble and she could break.

Bernie Wolfe did not break. Or cry. _For f***'s sake, get a grip and go to sleep._ She rolled onto her stomach and stuffed her hands under her pillow, her eyes squeezed tightly shut whilst she tried to steady her breathing. One of the military psychologists taught her a useful trick for washing out unwanted thoughts and images - counting her breaths in multiples of ten. Mind numbing, and at this moment, a welcome digression. It took twenty two sets to drift into what was ultimately a fitful and unsatisfying sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

11

There were few pleasures to waking up way too early the sixth morning in a row as a result of fragmented sleep. Two examples did spring to mind though – the fact that croissant and coffee was already open and catching glimpses from her window of Taylor trying to teach Wendell how to play Frisbee (she would only do it when she thought it was either too early or late for anyone else to see them). Nurse Yevtushok should give him a break; he really was very sweet.

Hans had asked her to assist in theatre later today. She had enjoyed their regular late night drams; he got to show off his admittedly impressive slide collection and his classical music CD's whilst she enjoyed small aliquots of extremely fine alcoholic beverages from around the world. He never pushed her to talk about Serena, but made it subtly clear that he knew the score and that he hoped things would work out between them. She was grateful to him and Victoria for providing space where she could unfurl and acknowledge at least for a short while this confusing melee of want, pain, bliss, fear and fragility; perhaps collectively known to others as being in love.

Their pilot of the "Principles of Trauma Life Support" course had been a huge success the previous week; it was likely to be developed regionally and probably nationally. Today was ward round and theatre day, but she liked to look in on the cubs to make sure they were okay at the helm. Today they would be teaching Emergency Village staff the principles of instructing on the course so the centre could be self sufficient in terms of training.

The latest platoon of eager aspirant instructors had been set to work on dummy anushka (seemed much more appropriate than the anglocentric "annie..") under Wendell's watchful? eyes – when she wasn't suturing that blasted sponge that is..

"Wendell! Should I confiscate it?.."

"Sorry Ms Wolfe. It's in the pocket. For good. Or at least until break?.."

"Ok, but keep an eye on these people – why are there three cricothyroidotomy needles in an apparently conscious dummy's throat?...and two cannulas sticking out of its chest…is it a voodoo doll workshop?...or a new scenario involving a woman with triple trachea syndrome, anaphylaxis and bilateral tension pneumothoraces?...did I miss something?..."

"Understood. I'm on it"

Luckily Taylor arrived and asked if he could join in. Jed was snowed under in theatre 4 and had asked for senior reinforcements. That seemed a bit harsh but if numbers had to be cleared it was easier and quicker to divide work amongst consultants. She had offered, but Ruslan, Fedir and Marko were keen to work with Jed, which was fine; as much as she liked and respected him, his passion for golf, rock music and centre-right politics didn't really resonate.

She went to ICU to check on her patients from yesterday. Bed 14, Patient 1. Male, 44 years of age, history of obstructive airways disease, presented with a perforated duodenal ulcer. Some difficulties extubating so still ventilated but otherwise stable. Routine blood tests unremarkable. Wound site looked good. Side room B, Patient 2. Male, 52 years of age, crush injuries to both legs after driving into the back of a truck. Apparently on purpose. She had heard suicide rates in the Ukraine were astonishingly high. She glanced through the window as she approached the door; drat - another doctor and a relative were already in there. She went for the door but the doctor in the room turned round, caught her eye and held up her hand, fingers splayed with an earnest stare that said "not now, just give me five minutes please". Bernie nodded and waited. Looking through the window, this chap was clearly septic. He looked confused and frightened, was flushed, sweating and had rigors. Odd though; he was on a raft of prophylactic antibiotics. Clearly they weren't doing the job. Imaging, blood cultures and wound swabs if this doctor hadn't already requested them.

A nurse hurried into the room, fixed up a small drip of yellow liquid alongside his fluids and gave him some oral medication. For f***s sake. B vitamins and oral antibiotics. What next – aromatherapy? Who was this doctor? She clearly wasn't a surgeon or an anaesthetist given the lack of scrubs. Must be a gastroenterologist. Bloody medics interfering prematurely. Bernie charged through the door. "Bernie Wolfe – I operated on this man yesterday with my colleague Dr de Haan. I assume you're from gastroenterology. Has this gentleman been switched to empirical broad spectrum IV antibiotics? Have you requested cultures, wound swabs and imaging? I can see from outside the room that he's septic." She put on some gloves and peeled off his dressings - the wound sites were pristine. No erythaema, swelling or discharge. The other doctor touched the patient's arm, apologized in accented English (North American) and said she would be back in five minutes. The other woman beside the patient uttered what was clearly the same phrase to the patient in Ukrainian. Not a relative. Clearly an interpreter. The patient nodded but looked as though he had been torn from something vitally important. He had incredibly piercing blue eyes.

"Thank you. Could I have a word Dr Wolfe?" Bernie followed the doctor outside the room and closed the door. The pieces suddenly clicked into place. What _other_ specialist would wade onto ICU to see this patient so soon after surgery? Gastro _never_ bothered until the patient was well and truly out of the woods and recovering on a general ward. Of course, a _psychiatrist_ – this was a suicide attempt after all. Canadian accent – hence the interpreter? She had a feeling she was about to experience the full wrath of Dr Anna Rickards, secret lover of Dr Victoria de-Haan, who had probably referred the patient to her yesterday as they lay in bed together eating Belgian chocolate or something equally nauseating (bitter…yes perhaps a little).

"Dr Wolfe. My name is Anna Rickards and I'm a liaison psychiatrist, not a Gastroenterologist. Let me briefly iterate what we both know about this patient then let me tell you what you don't yet know." Bernie stood there, a little dumbfounded. Weren't psychiatrists supposed to be fluffy and all about the dialogue?..She didn't dare interrupt the ensuing tirade..

"Mr Igor Yevtushok. 52 years old, admitted yesterday via the ED with crush injuries to both legs after driving his car into the back of a truck at speed. You and Vic..Dr de Haan performed some impressive fixations, vessel reconstruction and tendon repairs whilst Fedir Hubenko from plastics lent a hand. You correctly observed that this gentleman is flushed, tremulous and sweaty. Of course blood cultures have been sent, fluids are running and he is on broad spectrum antibiotics just to be on the side of safety. He isn't septic though. Tachycardic and sweaty yes, but _hyper_ tensive. A continuous fine tremor rather than rigors. Very low grade pyrexia, good urine output, raised white cell count and CRP but entirely inkeeping with trauma stress response. No rise in lactate overnight. Chest x ray and urine dip clear. Wound sites clean as you see. Not terribly convincing for sepsis is it?"

Bernie didn't have an immediate retort. She smiled discreetly to herself as it was becoming quite clear why Victoria had fallen for this woman the moment she met her. The high priestess of shattered knees – tamed by this feisty, brilliant psychiatrist and twisted inexorably around her little finger. It actually seemed like a very decent card dealt by fate. Anna was pleasant to look at and she had beautiful collarbones…and exquisite hands.. _Enough Wolfe! Pay attention…_

"I think this gentleman is showing signs of sympathetic overdrive because he is withdrawing from alcohol. He has delirium tremens and whilst atypical, I suspect he might have experienced command hallucinations that drove him to try and end his life. There is no history of depression or psychosis but he just confessed to two years of alcohol dependence since his wife died and attempting absintence recently to salvage his relationship with his daughter. The urgent treatments here centre on Pabrinex and Librium. I suspect he will begin to recover in a matter of hours."

"Impressive logic Dr Rickards. I'll come back later this evening to check on him…I'm sorry by the way – for barging in earlier"

"I saw your face as the nurse brought the tablets in. What did you think I was giving him – homeopathy?"

"Actually I thought it might have been sea kelp tablets or perhaps krill extract…?"

"Now there's a thought…Victoria is coming to review him with me at six. You are welcome to join us?"

"If I'm out of theatre I will. See you there."

Well. That all seemed a tiny bit flirtatious but enjoyable nonetheless. It was safe territory, given that her and Vic were clearly besotted and had been for several years.

She stayed for a moment to watch through the window as Dr Rickards reconnected with her patient. There was something fascinating about watching another specialist at work, doing something that seemed so far removed from one's own daily bread and butter. She watched the patient cautiously rebuild trust in Anna; the look on his face as if he had just grasped hold of a lifeline and that finally someone understood. She let him flinch, grasp at unseen things in the air, shake his fists and cry. Finally they settled into an earnest conversation and she handed him the beaker. He took his tablets. Nice work Dr Rickards.


	12. Chapter 12

12

Bernie tried to find Victoria for lunch but she was mid scenario with the cubs in the simulation lab. Well. They could have laughs over a drink later as Bernie told her how she was duly and justifiably chided by her lady love. Of course Mr blue eyes would feel better later this evening after Dr Smarty-pants cured his delirium tremens.

Yevtushok – Christ. Those eyes. Did Maryna know he was in hospital? Possibly her father or an uncle? She should tell Taylor to ratch down the banter in theatre a bit without telling him exactly why. As it happened he was in theatre with Hans when she arrived, positioned predictably opposite his favourite nurse.

"Dr Wolfe – glad you could join us. We have just opened the chest."

"Hi Hans. Taylor. Leonid. Mykyta. I'll be with you in a second"

Bernie put on a hat and mask, scrubbed, and slipped into a gown and gloves. She glanced at nurse Yevtushok. Those beautiful eyes were red rimmed and eye contact appeared to be kept at an absolute minimum. She clearly knew then.

Hans was in his element. The viewing gallery was packed with onlookers. Leonid and Mykyta, Hans' Ukrainian cardiothoracic counterparts were hunched over the thorax in gleeful anticipation. He had deliberately kept everything under wraps but promised her she wouldn't want to miss it. "This is somewhat _verboten_ Dr Wolfe as it is an elective procedure, but not something you see every day. Slide 207 from 1987?"

"Ah, the consequences of the Fontan procedure for single ventricle physiology! – Seriously?..Here?...Today?..Now?.."

"Yes! Wunderbar!" Hans was delighted, but Bernie only remembered the slide because it was the one example of ragged liver he seemed to possess that wasn't pre 1930's. If she recalled correctly, the procedure had only been going since the 1970's. Wow. This would be a sight to behold. She loved how despite being almost thirty years into her career, she was still excited to see surgical techniques she had never witnessed. Jac, Ollie and Serena would be in cardiothoracic and vascular heaven respectively; the Fontan procedure was a feat of very elegant re-plumbing between the inferior vena cava and the pulmonary arteries. Usually done in childhood but the occasional adult agreed to go through with it after barely managing with a Blalock-Taussig shunt for years. She resolved to absorb every detail and tell her all about it over a bottle of Shiraz in front of her crackling fire _….focus_!...

Hans and Leonid did most of the work, with occasional clips and sutures from her and Mykyta. It was incredible to think that underneath that pericardial sac, there was a single ventricular chamber. Two and a half hours later it was all over. Taylor was so awestruck that he barely seemed to notice Nurse Yevtushok, which was a blessing in disguise.

"It's a real shame Wendell missed this.."

"I offered to swap into teaching, but she said she had seen a couple of these before". Bless Wendell. No doubt she had but she would have loved to see this; good on her for letting Taylor in on it.

"One can never see too many of these procedures. Clearly Dr Lewis had other, more pressing commitments". Hans was clearly miffed by her absence, but he would get over it as soon as she presented her sponge with perfectly emulated pursestring sutures..

Bernie decided to head back to ICU to check on Mr Yevtushok. She saw Maryna in the corridor leaning against the wall, attempting to steady her composure. Taylor appeared out of nowhere and put his hand on her shoulder. She started to cry. He pulled her into a bear hug and she crumpled against his chest. It actually stung to watch as Bernie realised this was exactly what Serena had needed just before she decided to bolt from AAU. Yes, things moved on later in the evening but how could she have been so cowardly on the ward, watching Serena visibly fracture with the prospect of her leaving and doing nothing except to push her away and run?

Let's face it. The whole thing was a mess. She had totally ruined things. As if by (dark) magic, her phone buzzed in her pocket. A text message from Serena.

 _did you get my e mail? I meant what I said, the hospital needs you._

"The hospital" again. She clearly meant it. Well. No point replying to a straightforward administrative fact. But. Hanssen hadn't been in touch imploring her to come back, so clearly they were managing. Did this mean Victoria was right? Was this another translation exercise? _Oh, get a grip. She's over you and you only have yourself to blame._

Bernie took a deep breath, steadied herself and marched onto ICU. Patient 1 still intubated, stable, no change, no surprises. Excellent. She made her way to side room B. Victoria and Anna were already in there with an interpreter. She didn't want to startle the patient, given her entrance earlier today. The words "bull in a china shop" came to mind, and so she elected to wait outside and observe through the window. Vic would carry out a surgical review so she didn't really need to be in there too.

She looked at the charts clipped to the door. It was pretty remarkable – he was calmer, less sweaty and tremulous and his observations had stabilized. Delirium tremens it was. Anna spoke with him whilst Victoria examined his legs. She caught sight of Bernie through the window, gave her a thumbs up and beckoned her to come in. Bernie took a look at his legs. Good. Warm, well perfused, decent sensation, wiggling toes to command and clean wound sites. All going well, at least from a surgical point of view. She couldn't help but focus in on the narrative that Anna was eliciting; this poor guy had been experiencing terrifying hallucinations. Demons, assassins, snakes, floors and walls swirling and dissolving around him, and relentless whispering voices telling him if he didn't kill himself "they" would take out his entire family. Sure enough it all began a few days after he stopped drinking. He was grateful the Librium had started to kick in, and he swore he would never touch another drop of booze.

Bernie noticed how Victoria and Anna had the intensive staring thing going on, much like her and Serena had at one point. Right up until the day she left in fact. Victoria looked at Anna as if she lost her a decade ago and had suddenly found her; it was an intensive combination of love, feral desire and awe. Anna returned her stare as if to say "I know, it's exactly the same for me and I want to tear all your clothes off...now" . It was impressive to know that all this had continued to burn this brightly for four years. It seemed it _was_ possible to get relationships right. She would ask them their secrets of success later.

The three of them left the room. Maryna was waiting outside – visibly calmer, no doubt thanks in part to Taylor's spectacular bear hugs. She smiled and nodded to them before heading in. They all stole a glance back into the room to make sure it was going well (lots of smiles and hugs – excellent), before heading out of ICU. "Hey Bernie, fancy joining us for dinner?"

"I would love to, but I think it's mandatory that I'm at Bottega's tonight for Hans' debrief on the Fontan. I could find you both for a drink after though?"

Anna's eyes lit up. "A Fontan, really? That happened today?"

Victoria laughed " Oh my god,.. Anna, you are _such_ a geek!. You want to go too don't you?" "You bet I do"; she frowned and delivered a mock punch to Victoria's ribs. Clearly her geek factor was meant to be a secret but to be fair it was pretty obvious. Charmingly held though.

"Okay, I know when I'm beaten. How about we come too so Anna can take notes and we can head off for drinks after"

"Great. See you there. Oh, and Dr Rickards…..don't forget that notebook…"


	13. Chapter 13

13 – please note the final section of this chapter edges towards the M rating

Bernie arrived at Bottegas to find Hans and Leonid in full swing, gesticulating wildly and scribbling plumbing diagrams complete with pipes, arrows and chambers. Jed looked suitably impressed and Wendell was clearly spellbound. No sign of Taylor, Anna or Victoria; she rather hoped that Taylor was gazing across a dinner table at those cornflower blue eyes and it was most likely that, given the quality of "come to bed immediately" eye contact earlier today, Victoria and Anna had decided on wild sex, Horilka shots (they actually _liked_ cherry flavour petrol it seemed?..) and takeout. Mmmm. Good for them.

She made her excuses after a couple of hours and went back to the lecturer's residence blocks. A vacant attic room a few doors down from Hans had come up a few weeks ago and she was glad she had pounced on it - bless him for tipping her off. The best bit was his little welcome pack for her – a small bottle of Amrut Whisky and a hessian sack full of twigs. smokeless coal, logs and firelighters with a note attached "for cheating. I did not include a lighter because I know you have one". Ok, so he had clearly seen the occasional cigarette being smoked. After a cautious but ultimately successful draw test one night, she now shared Hans' secret habit of burning a late night illicit log or two on her smokeless coals whilst enjoying a glass of singularly excellent whisky. Apparently Amrut was Sanskrit for "nectar of life". Unsurprising really. She found that decent bottle of wine in her wardrobe to take over to chez lovebirds (may as well road test it – no point giving Serena a bottle of rubbish as a peace offering..); she caught sight of her rucksack. Was it time? Was she allowed, or would it screw with her head completely? Tucked up in that rucksack in a small plastic bag was the T shirt Serena had worn the night she stayed over. Every night Bernie wanted to bury her face in it, to catch a glimpse of Serena's scent – a heady mix of Paul Smith Rose, a rich, sweet scent almost brandy like, a warm honey musk and freshly baked bread. She had spent ages that night trying to distil it into words as Serena slept in her arms.

Discipline was at an all time low it seemed. She tore open the bag, lifted the T shirt to her face and buried her nose into the fabric, inhaling deeply. There it was – unmistakeable. Her breaths became more erratic and shallow and before she could wrest control she was crying. Her body roared with want, chest aching so much she thought it would shatter. Warm, acrid rivulets of tears refused to stop. The distance had been difficult over the last few weeks but right now, she wanted her so badly it was unbearable.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket. Should she just call her and say it? "I miss you, I love you, I want you, please give us another chance and I'll board the next plane out of here and never leave your side again?".. That could go so badly, badly wrong if she lost her nerve mid sentence. An e mail? Too formal. A text? Too casual. Her screen lit up - a text came through from Victoria:

Hi Bernie. Sorry we missed you at dinner. Come over – would b great to see you? No Horilka - promise x

Yes. Company and distraction would be good. She threw the T shirt onto her bed, splashed her face with cold water and marched across to block B with her bottle of wine – a necessary defence against cherry petrol hell. She approached room 12 and put her ear to the door – better check there was earnest conversation rather than other auditory phenomena before she knocked. Good – she could hear a debate about when to go kayaking to see whales; didn't strike her as sex talk. Ranger role play perhaps? No, this was earnest trip planning..

Anna opened the door; she was donned in a loose grey t shirt and white shorts, hair notably ruffled. Clearly staying the night. Clearly had been in bed most of the evening. No doubt that Belgian choc was under the pillow. "Hi Bernie – come in". "Hey you!" Victoria's eyes narrowed with concern as she looked at Bernie. Bloody hell. Was it so obvious she had been a tear stained wreck as little as twenty minutes ago? Victoria simply hugged her close and pulled her through the door.

"Evening you two. Missed you at dinner. Lost your appetite did you?"

"Not…. _exactly_ " quipped Anna as she raised an eyebrow and glanced across at Victoria's legs. Bernie wasn't quite sure where to look, there really was a disarming amount of bare skin on display. As if they read her thoughts, Victoria smiled and pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms and Anna snuggled under the duvet. Victoria put her hand on Bernie's shoulder.

"You okay Bernie?...tough evening?.."

She didn't have the strength to lie or deflect the conversation. She handed her phone to Victoria. "Text. Earlier today. Would be interested in your translation but I think sadly I know what it means.."

"Which one?"

"The one dated today"

"There are two though"

"What?"

"Yeah, one from around 2pm and one sent about fifteen minutes ago"

Bernie gestured wildly to reclaim her phone so she could see it:

 _Everything ok? where are you? x_

Notably softer. That precious x provided a glimmer of possibility – did it?

"Ok, so what do you think? Anna apparently your girlfriend speaks many languages –English, French and Female. I suspect you are up to speed with my disastrous attempt to forge an extra curricular liaison with a work colleague… "

"That seems like a very formal way of saying that you have fallen hard for Serena and you are worried you may have messed it up…but you kind of hope you haven't as you are still clearly nuts about her ? We googled her by the way – she's really sexy and she has a _gorgeous_ voice!.."

Bernie laughed. "Hands off you two – I'm hoping she's mine, but I'm relying on you to help me read between the lines. Apparently I'm rather…visually impaired in this respect.."

She sat on the edge of the bed. Anna and Victoria were wrapped around each other, staring intently at her phone. Victoria looked across to Bernie:

"Mmm. Text one – that's easy. It says: _I meant what I said – I need you._

Text two – mmm. A little more complicated. She's saying:

 _Okay, maybe I've been a little hesitant and spiky in my messages, but I'm worried because only someone with a GCS of 3 would be this persistently unresponsive. Have you coned?..._ "

"Vic…" Anna glared sternly at Victoria, aware that no one was seeing the funny side of this. Bernie cleared her throat.

"Wow Vic. And I thought only army doctors had a sense of humour _that_ dark…"

"I'm sorry - I go way too far sometimes. But seriously, this woman keeps throwing you lifelines and for some reason you're choosing to keep drowning. She is now seriously puzzled, probably scared and despite being left in the dark she is still brave enough to kiss you at the end of a sentence. She's one in a million and you know it. Why the radio silence?"

The trauma surgeon sighed. "At first I told myself I should give her space. The honest truth, is that I want her so badly I daren't m-move a muscle in case I f*** it up completely. When I didn't hear from her I thought she had decided the whole thing was a terrible mistake anyway. Then came the e mail and the first text, which I felt kind of proved my point."

A wry smile crept across Anna's face - "What about now – can you make this new message fit with that gloomy theory?...I _dare you_ to try and explain away that x….."

"I confess I can't but I'm trying not to get too excited about it."

"Oh, please get excited and live a little will you? We could have still been staring at each other four years down the line if I hadn't taken a risk. Thank god I did." Their eyes locked into that intensive stare. Anna cupped Victoria's face in her hands and kissed her full on the mouth.

"Get a room guys…"

Anna smiled. "We have,…this is it. Now go get a spine and tell Serena you are totally nuts about her. Have a glass of wine with us first though."

They chatted into the night; Anna and Vic had the day off tomorrow hence the sleepover and Bernie was overseeing the sim lab; more than possible with very little sleep and lots of coffee. She stumbled back to her room (one bottle of wine had turned into one each), scraped her key into the lock and fell inside. As she came out of the bathroom she caught sight of herself in the mirror; toothpaste at the corner of her mouth, naked shoulders, flushed cheeks thanks to the Hungarian Vilany but most importantly of all, a glint of resolve not to close the book just yet. _Thanks Vic and Anna._

She lay on top of her bed and draped the T shirt across her face. It was all there – rose, brandy-honey sweetness, baking bread. This uniquely intoxicating scent, the change in tone of Serena's messages, combined with spending the last few hours with a sexually charged couple who couldn't stop touching and kissing led inexorably to one conclusion - tonight her body would not be silenced. She traced a horizontal line with her fingertip just below the elastic of her underwear; the same line Serena had painted with a tentative finger. She remembered how wild Serena looked after she had taken off her underwear, the hunger in her mouth as she found her breasts, those exquisite fingers teasing her inner thigh before…before…

Bernie took off her underwear and finally allowed her fingers to travel south. She bit into the T shirt covering her face, breathing hard as she stroked, teased, nudged and circled warm, swollen, wet contours. Her hips ricocheted into her fingers as she replayed images and sensations of Serena's mouth, her tongue gliding and flicking across her clit as if she had done it countless times before. Sex had never felt that raw and unguarded….so….perfect.

She was close - it was going to be very difficult to stay quiet. She grabbed a pillow and tried to bury her guttural cries as she became exquisitely sensitive; she stroked, tickled and circled gently yet relentlessly before bursting into a deliciously intense climax. She smiled to herself as her breathing slowed to something resembling normal. How stupid could someone get?! Counting breaths every night and stuffing her hands under her pillow like a sexual temperance ambassador; this was the calmest and most positive she had felt in weeks ….

She put on her Serena infused T shirt, resolved to fly home the following week and fell asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

*Thank you for your lovely comments, and for sharing the journey. The final chapters enable to story to unwind and finish so we can say goodbye to the characters. I confess it is tempting to continue into Serena and Bernie's first day (and night) of reunion. We'll see...

14

Pale shafts of November sunlight streamed through the window of Bernie's room. She smiled and stretched the length of her body whilst kicking off her sheets. She hadn't slept this well for weeks – mmm. Wonder why…

She had already been tipped off that breakfast would be waiting for her in the sim lab, which afforded an amble rather than a bleary eyed dash through the park.

"Hey Bernie! Fancy joining me for the last mile?..." She turned to find a sweaty and euphoric Jed decked out in his shorts and a long sleeved T shirt (was it really winter after all?..). Well. How to break it to him that she would rather scrub the pathway they were standing on with her own toothbrush? Jogging at zero degrees indeed…

"Alas Jed, I'm needed in the sim lab. Enjoy though"

"Sure will. See you later"

Bernie arrived at the simulation lab to find Hans, Leonid and the cubs munching croissants and staring intently at a small sponge on the table. Geeks. Loveable geeks though. She knew as she got closer it would be littered with sutures.

Hans raised an eyebrow. "What do you think of these mattress sutures Bernie?"

"For the price of a coffee I might spill my wisdoms?..". She had spotted an unclaimed cup and sure enough it had her name written on the lid. She took a sip and inhaled deeply. That heavenly aroma of Sumatran coffee; nutty, spicy, chocolatey loveliness that made mornings the best time of day. It was definitely worth a few suturing tips..

"Ok. This type of suture? Never too tight, that is one. Use fine sutures – 5:0 plus, that is two. Finally - learn to make micro bolsters and make the effort to use them to preserve wound integrity. I don't see any of those in the little sponge as of yet and I _don't_ expect to see any appearing during the course of the day. We are here to teach remember? Dummy Anushka's life rather depends on you…"

Hans was leading the chest trauma scenario in Russian with Leonid. No room for linguistic barriers when teaching needle pericardiocentesis. Bernie would oversee the cubs teaching airway management and C spine clearance. Oh these two – within the first hour, teaching had deteriorated into a distracted Taylor poring over his new selfie collection (him and Maryna were indeed dating) and although Wendell had divorced herself temporarily from that bloody sponge she was now obsessed with a pocket "German in three months" book. Poor dummy anushka. She was donned in a neck collar two sizes too big, and those poor plastic lungs were being ventilated at 20 breaths per minute. Shame there was no projectile vomit button on Anushka that she could press to encourage the hyperventilators to desist. Confiscation really was the only way forward. It turned out that phoneless Taylor and Wendell sans book and sponge were actually very good instructors.

Hans popped his head round the door.

"We can have lunch today Bernie - yes?"

"Sure, that would be nice. See you at one?"

"Perfect. Until then." He glanced at the pile of confiscated contraband next to her, smiled and left.

Lunch at Bottegas felt a little decadent but so be it. It was her last few days.

"So. You are leaving us next week?"

"I am. I think it's time to go home."

"You have made some important decisions I think?"

"Let's just say my priorities have become a lot clearer."

"This sounds brave and wise if I may say so. Did she open the door a little?"

"I'm not sure it ever closed. I just let myself think it had."

Hans smiled into his glass.

"We will miss you. I would be pleased to receive you in Leipzig if you wish to visit our department. Both of you. She is a vascular surgeon, correct?"

"Thank you. And yes, she is. An excellent vascular surgeon." Serena would love this guy. His dry sense of humour and her sardonic wit would have them chuckling into the small hours and theatre would be a riot. She just might go ahead and plot how she could get it past Hanssen.

"There will also be someone else who is familiar to you if you care to visit us in the next twelve months." Of course. The German language book.

"Wendell is coming over?"

"Yes. She will complete a cardiothoracic fellowship under my tutelage after our work here is finished. I think she is promising." _Promising._ This was Hans speak for "I think I have found a once in a generation talent here and I can't let her go just yet"

"I think if she masters German there is a chance you might have her for longer than a year"

"I secretly hope so – you will not tell?"

"You have kept enough of my secrets over the last couple of months. No I won't tell. And I hope you get to hold onto her – I agree she is incredibly talented."

"I have a gift for you. To open later." He handed her a small hessian sack tied with prolene. A nice touch.

"Thanks Hans. It's been a pleasure getting to know you. I _will_ keep in touch about that visit."

It really had been good to spend time with these surgeons, despite the unbearable distance from Serena. She had collected some great tips on knees, open heart surgery, Jed's spelectomy technique and Fedir Hubenko was a plastics legend. Despite all this, nothing would feel quite right until she felt Serena in her arms, her face buried softly into her neck, breathing in her scent.

Scent.

Why didn't she think of it before?

She squared an early departure with Taylor and Wendell and headed into the city. Kiev had a tiny, hidden mecca of fragrance if one knew where to find it and thankfully she recalled a conversation with Vic when she was thinking of buying perfume for Anna. Le Flacon was a whitewashed oasis of calm, tucked amidst Kiev's bustling streets. A tall, elegantly dressed elderly man with a twirled moustache opened the door for her; as she stepped inside she was struck by a subtle but intoxicating melee of fragrance. What she had in mind was a long shot but even if she could come close…

"добрий день"

"I'm sorry. Vy hovoryte po-anhliysʹky?"

"Yes madam, I speak English. How can I help you?"

Bernie flushed. "I'm looking for something similar to Paul Smith Rose but with erm….honey, brandy…..and…erm….well…..baking bread?.."….Christ. How deranged did this sound?

He simply smiled and beckoned her over to a stack of immaculate white shelves. "Mmm. Let us try some things."

They proceeded through a series of Serena near misses – bless this guy for his elegant patience. Hints of rose, jasmine, forest floor, warm jam, cinnamon, wet stone, Cointreau, honey, lime and musk graced her nose as she continued to search for Serena in these countless small glass bottles.

"This is pretty good but it lacks…."

"The baking bread I think? How about a combination of these two madam?" He proceeded to mix a small amount of two near misses together.

It wasn't bad actually. She could tell because as she inhaled her breath caught and her mouth went dry before starting to water.

"Er…yes. This will do nicely. Thank you"

It was now her eyes that watered as she coughed up a hundred and sixty euros for that tiny bottle of almost Serena. Perhaps a good thing that she had only just had this extremely expensive brainwave as it would all be gone within a few days..

Bernie wound her way through the city to the train station. Hans had tasked her with picking up tickets for a surprise adventure on Friday. Apparently they hadn't had enough wild nights. They would fly to Lviv, spend a few hours there for some event or other before boarding the night train back to Kiev. The only intelligence they had from bribing Wendell was that classical music was involved. Unfortunately most of them were on the weekend on call rota, which precluded an extended stay in Lviv and actually having fun on Saturday and Sunday…

It was six in the evening and the sea of commuters were still flowing through turnstiles and gazing impatiently at the departures board for news of platforms to race to. She handed over Hans' note to the woman on the ticket counter, who grinned and produced a small packet. "Secret!" She bellowed in English; clearly the note had primed her on his little scheme..

Bernie felt the weight of the small glass bottle in her pocket. She boarded the metro to the University, took out the bottle, felt the urge to scoosh Serena into the atmosphere but some part of her felt jealous, protective, unwilling to share. What she had in that small glass vial was something that could only be known by sharing unguarded intimacy with the woman she loved. Scooshing could wait until she arrived at her residence block.

Half an hour later she was turning the key in the lock. She sat on her bed, took a deep breath and released the scent into the air. It was a glimpse; imperfect but definitely there. No tears came this time; instead a dizzying mixture of euphoria, yearning and bliss. One hundred and sixty euros was about to vanish very quickly. Pillows, sheets, clothes, the air, her skin; half a bottle later she was drowning in almost Serena. Was cocaine this good? probably not. Certainly less expensive though.

Already late for dinner. She pulled on a fresh shirt and jogged (perish the thought – hopefully Jed wasn't looking..) over to her international contingent for wine and yes, more of those delicious tapas.

Vic and Anna were just heading in; they spun round and crushed her with warm hugs.

"Bernie! Great to see you. Wow! You smell really good. New perfume?"

"Kind of. I did discover it just a couple of months ago and it's become a favourite.."

Luckily they were too hungry and distracted to press for further detail.

They sat down to a frenzied bustle of conversation – Jed and Hans were whispering to each other like conspiring schoolboys; the mystery trip on Friday night was their joint venture. Clearly Jed had almost forgiven him for stealing Wendell. Taylor had brought Maryna along; her father was doing really well. Taylor was looking at ways to stay on in Kiev for a few months under the guise of wanting to learn more from Fedir Hubenko; no living, breathing male of any description could fail to understand the lure of those blue eyes so she had no doubt Fedir would help him sort out a plan.

Vic stood at the end of the table. "Hey everyone. You've all probably heard we're losing Bernie next week. I want to propose a toast to wish her a safe journey home and to implore her not to forget us! We are saying no to Rioja tonight – I know that Shiraz is a special favourite so here it is. Raise your glasses – to Bernie Wolfe!"

Bernie beamed as cheers, huzzahs and clinking glasses resonated across the table.

She had secretly become quite fond of Rioja so it was good to re-embrace her relationship with Shiraz. Fingers crossed she would be exposed to much more of it on a regular basis…was she still talking about Shiraz? She didn't care at this point. Bless these lovely, wonderful doctors for helping her to get over herself and see more clearly.

Taylor and Wendell walked her back to A block. "Hey Ms Wolfe, can we get a picture with you?" They wrapped their arms around her and took a series of selfies. "Okay, okay, enough!...I will miss you two. It's been a lot of fun teaching you – I see a lot of potential. Taylor, don't get railroaded into trauma and orthopaedics. I think it's obvious you are a plastic surgeon. Let Fedir guide you."

More bear hugs and selfies followed but then it went a step too far.

"Hey Ms Wolfe. Fancy a game of Frisbee tomorrow? 6 am?"

She simply raised an eyebrow. Interesting how junior doctors around the world were able to interpret that non verbal cue, which meant it was pointless and potentially hazardous to take even one single further step that direction.

"Okay, maybe not then. See you tomorrow"

Within the hour she had built a crackling fire in her rose-brandy-honey-bread scented den and had finally opened Hans' gift; an exceptional bottle of single malt and a boxed 1902 slide entitled _Repair of_ _Myocardial laceration ._ Despite his stern demeanour he really was poetic at heart.

No soothing rituals tonight. The intoxicating fragrance and the heat of the fire led her straight past those anterior superior iliac spines. Image upon image tumbled into her mind's eye; each fragment of imagination jostling for space as she thought about exactly what she wanted to do to Serena Campbell the moment she returned from Ukraine.


	15. Chapter 15

15

The remainder of the week was a blur of teaching, trauma on call and lending a hand with two military cases that Anna had insisted be transferred from the Central Military Hospital; brutal self harm attempts that required emergency laparotomy. The feisty Dr Rickards was on a short elective there; it would be interesting to get her perspective on how effectively mental health problems in military personnel were being treated here.

Friday was suddenly drawing to a close. Everyone (except the cubs, who had Kiev plans) had approximately twenty minutes to bolt back to the residence blocks for bags and passports before the cab left for the airport. It did feel exciting to be dashing off to another city for a few hours. Hans and Jed confirmed they had sorted a restaurant and were essentially tight lipped about the rest of the evening.

Lviv. Population 728 000. The seventh largest city in Ukraine but a cultural powerhouse and UNESCO world heritage site. Temperature – almost bloody freezing at 3 degrees. Twinned with the likes of Budapest in Hungary and St Petersburg in Russia and ?Rochdale in the United Kingdom? Perhaps Rochdale had hidden depths and she shouldn't judge until she had visited…

They sped to the Baczewski restaurant and narrowly made their reservation. This place was a sight to behold. A foliage rich glasshouse with elegant wooden furniture and a warren of pathways leading to balconies and a brick lined, vaulted area of dining tables in the old cellars. The menu was crammed with Polish, Hungarian, Ukrainian, Jewish and Galician themed food and a dizzying array of coloured liqueurs flanked the bar.

The decadence flowed. Hearty Galician soups, succulent shashlyks and beef tenderloins, crunchy Padron peppers, polish pancakes and miniature bowls of ghoulash, washed down with full bodied Vilany. Bernie found herself sitting in between Anna and Vic.

"How was the military hospital Anna?"

Anna inhaled sharply and shook her head. Vic intervened and uttered in a low voice: "She's having difficulty talking about it. It was pretty intense."

"It wasn't intense Vic, it was fucking disastrous. Sorry Bernie. She's right. I haven't processed it at all yet. I just can't take in how many broken minds are stacked up in that place without any hope of treatment. Nobody talks about mental health in there. And if you do, you're shipped off to some remote place in the middle of nowhere and your military career is over…it's just so,…..it was just…" Anna was quick to catch a tear before it slid down her face. Bernie had never seen her caught off balance; she ached to give her a hug so god only knew how Vic was feeling.

"I'm sorry Anna. Do we know anything about the place they are sent to?"

"Fortunately the rumours are positive but the price for rehabilitation is that the army washes its hands of you. Your career, your life is over."

"People can find meaning in life again after a career in the Army Anna, even if you leave unexpectedly."

"I'm sorry, Bernie – that's not what I meant at all. I know that –"

"I know. But I want you to know that some of these men will find meaning again despite being robbed of the choice of staying or leaving."

She gathered Anna into her arms. She felt surprisingly angular and delicate.

"Thanks Bernie. Perhaps I could talk to you some more about it when I've thought it through"

"Sure"

Vic smiled. "Okay guys, I'm getting jealous. Who wants a coffee liqueur? Apparently it's a Galician speciality and it will prep us for our mystery concert, recital, gig or whatever it is."

Jed and Hans led them through winding streets of pale, elegant buildings. Some were simply stone, others plastered in stucco with elaborate cornices. They eventually arrived at an imposing terracotta coloured building with muscular telamons flanking an art Nouveau doorway. It was

even more impressive inside. Gleaming tiled floors and tall, wood paneled hallways led to a central rotunda with a glass cupola above, which, although robbed of daylight currently, would permit even faint winter sunlight to illuminate the vast and intricately carved staircase that curved up and around the rotunda to provide a gallery. It was simply magnificent.

Hans and Jed were beside themselves with excitement. "Welcome ladies. This is the house of scientists. This evening we have the pleasure of listening to some of the members of the Estonian Philarmonic Chamber Choir and orchestra. Tickets were – how do you say? Hot? Anyway. I am trying to say they were difficult to acquire, but we have been fortunate. Jed and I have discovered a mutual interest in early music and we hope to convince you to join us. These works are very special indeed."

Bernie had always had a secret liking for classical music but it was a passion rarely explored. Hans had definitely helped her to develop her taste for instruments but she didn't really know choral music. It seemed tonight she would become acquainted with and potentially fall in love with a whole bunch of men all at once: William Byrd, Antonio Lotti, Claudio Monteverdi and Arvo Part.

Her phone buzzed. She fumbled discreetly in her pocket for the power button and switched it off.

The stage was empty. Were they running late? Then, it started. Voices seemed to be coming from all directions. Genius. The choir members were embedded in the audience; Bernie was just three seats away from an extraordinary baritone voice. They were bathed in a three dimensional cloud of sound. And so it continued. Short pieces of music that sounded as though they had literally fallen from the sky, each one a lesson in patience as they became more intricate and beautiful as layers of voice gradually surfaced. Byrd's Emendemus in Melius, Part's Nunc Dimittis and Monteverdi's Christe would have to be sourced on CD or perhaps mp3 if she was to avoid "old granny ludite" type ridicule from Cam.

Finally, the stage was graced with a pianist and cellist. They proceeded to produce the most subtle and haunting music she had ever heard. Arvo Part's Spiegel im Spiegel and Fur Alina; simple, persistent melodies that seemed to pierce deeper each time they surfaced. One had to continually fight the urge to resist it, to pretend it was boring and to make it stop. Bernie took a long, steady breath and closed her eyes. She was catapulted into that hollow, dark cavern of want and yearning that she experienced when she buried her face into the T shirt. It felt limitless; as though she would suffocate before finding her way out. There it was again. A fleeting glimpse of what more primitive, subconscious parts of her really did feel about the separation; blind, unbridled rage and panic. Tears fell. Why had she done this to herself, to Serena?

She felt a little self conscious of her tearstained face and stole a glance to her compatriots. Jed was entranced. He recurrently and gently stroked the underside of his right eyelid. Clearly fighting back a tear. Hans was simply enraptured. Anna was similarly tearstained and breathing into her left palm. Vic went to touch her face; she gave a warning glance – not to be done here in Lviv. She clasped her hands together in her lap, crestfallen.

It couldn't end like this. Everything felt so raw and exposed. Thankfully they anticipated the Spiegel effect as the choir soared to life after a moment of so of silence. Byrd's Lustorum Animae was a perfect final salve; soothing, uplifting, bathing ones head and heart after the lesson in emotional honesty from Arvo Part. As beautiful as it was, she wasn't sure she could ever listen to that particular piece of music again.

The concert ended to rapturous applause. Jed put his arm around Anna's shoulders. "I'm not sure about anyone else but I could sure use a nightcap before boarding that train. Anyone else?"

"A definite yes from camp Wolfe."

"Count the Canadians in for sure. Hans?"

"I would consider it the perfect end to a lovely evening. 4friends on Dzhokhara Dudayeva has many excellent kinds of whisky and is only fifteen minutes by walking. Okay?"

They sipped two generous drams of peatsmoked, firebranded scotch whilst comparing thoughts and emotional reactions to the music. Everyone agreed it was spellbinding and in places, challenging. Huzzahs and thanks followed for Hans and Jed for organizing the whole thing before they tumbled into a cab to make the night train.

Hans and Jed shared a cabin and Bernie joined Vic and Anna. The small bunks were actually quite comfortable and the cabin was thankfully very warm.

"Okay you two. No wild sex in here tonight, or at least not until you hear me snoring."

"Us? Never..So. Does Serena know you're coming back next week?"

"Uhm….no…I…er…thought it could be a surprise?"

"It sure will be after two months of silence, but we promised not to lecture you any more about that. Did you get the Hungarian Vilany wine? She'll love it if she likes Shiraz."

"I did. Thanks for the tip."

"I will miss you, you know. Come see us in Vancouver and bring Serena so we can tape record that voice. Man, I could listen to her all day…"

"I'll bet you could. I will definitely be in touch about coming over. It's been really nice to meet you two. Thanks for refusing to let me give up hope!"

"Any time. You guys are clearly meant to be together, despite your kinda weird way at handling distance…let us know how it goes next week for sure!..."

"I will. Good night you two."

"Goodnight Bernie"

Thankfully the muffled kisses and chuckles from the lower bunk rather quickly evolved into the familiar heavy breathing of sleep rather than sex. Bernie switched on her phone. There was a text message from Serena.

I MISS YOU

It was very unlike her to type in upper case. Had someone sent it as a joke? How would they get hold of her phone? Should she simply take it as it read, take a deep breath and reply? No. What if she called and the conversation went pear shaped? What if she lost signal at a critical moment? Bernie really wanted these three words to be true. Just a few more days then she could try and begin to explain herself in person, which would be better. She elected not to wake Anna and Vic, who would have implored her to respond asap. Just a few more days. She crouched by the window so she could look at night landscapes dart past as the train sped towards Kiev. Rain lashed against the window, creating blurred scenes of clusters of streetlights, buildings, rolling contours of hills punctured by sharp spires of trees. Bernie went over and over scripts and scenes of what might happen when she got back and how she could convince Serena she was playing for keeps.

Before she knew it, six hours had elapsed and they were pulling into Kiev central station. Thank goodness she wasn't rostered until this evening.

The weekend take was predictably busy. The almost fatal combinations of alcohol, driving, operating heavy machinery, weapons, fighting and the drunken predilection for heights provided no end of trauma surgeon conundrums day or night. It was great to see the trauma centre in full swing; a large and tightly run ship that was fully self sufficient. The juniors had now started to rotate in which made the place feel a little less sterile and protocol driven.

She finally got back to her room on Sunday afternoon. Luckily she was pretty minimalist so packing took less than an hour. She had meticulously planned her last weekend to involve a busy Saturday-Sunday on call, goodbye crushes and hugs but an evening to herself to pack and collapse into bed with no room for rumination. Thankfully the plan worked perfectly; she was utterly brain dead after operating throughout Saturday night and Sunday morning and sleep enveloped her quickly and deeply. Before she knew it her alarm was pulling her into Monday morning so she could race to the airport and board her flight.

Coffee helped to clear the mist a little, and the flight was spent drafting a report for Hanssen on the secondment to appease the Trust. It felt good to summarise everything she felt she had collectively achieved with her overseas and Ukrainian counterparts. Her inner surgeon knew it was a good thing to do, the right thing to do to take the opportunity to go overseas and help build a state of the art Trauma unit but she had handled things with Serena very badly. She was going to have to learn to be a lot braver if this was going to work.

These pit stops in Brussels for the changeover to Bristol were absolutely no good if one was fighting chocoholia. Thankfully Bernie was not. Bittersweet dark, simply good quality milk, white chocolate with cardamom, salted caramel, truffles, bars, praline bites; hopefully she was allowed a second carry on bag. Two hours and one salted caramel bar later, her report was finished and she was heading through customs in Bristol.

Home at last. She turned the key in the lock and tentatively pushed the door open. Thank goodness she had had the sense to tidy up before she left for Kiev, but fragments of that magic night were still there. Rumpled bedsheets, the blanket by the fire, which was still full of charred embers. The Shiraz stained wineglass that didn't make it into the dishwasher. Was that a note under the breakfast bar? A shopping list probably. She bent down to pick it up:

B

Thanks for a fantastic evening. Decided to let you sleep. Goodbyes can be hard at the best of times but this one would have been too hard perhaps. Please call or write – I'll wait to hear from you so I know things are okay. Two months is not that long really. A visit at the half way mark?

Here's to the start of something very special.

S x

Bernie buried her face in her hands. What a complete mess. Should she go now to Holby and explain? No. Better to think it all through first. She had better come up with something pretty bloody spectacular tomorrow at work. Serena would never believe that she hadn't seen the note and frankly she knew she shouldn't hide behind it as an excuse for being a disaster zone as a prospective partner. It was time to get a major grip on the situation. Time to get into mission mode. Mission profuse apologies, persuasion and seduction. Right. Step one. Spotless flat, fresh bedding and blankets and fire prepped and ready to crackle. Step two. Top up the Shiraz vault and figure out something foolproof to cook that didn't require too much attention. Step three. See Hanssen first thing tomorrow, hand over the report and ask if her Secondment could be kept low profile for the time being.

It felt pretty miserable washing and tidying away all remainders of their first and last night together. It was a risk of sorts, in that there was a chance she might never recapture these embers again if Serena had written them off. What was this fixation she had developed with chasing scent? Burying her face in the blanket, the sheets, duvet, pillows; chasing forgotten olfactory traces in the hope that one serendipitous inhalation would buy her a few seconds of exquisite memory? Let's not forget the zillions of euros on tiny bottles of perfume…Well. One has to live a little even if it meant snuffling one's way through life.. The flat was finally tidy, Shiraz vault stocked, and the fridge full of options for dinner. Now all that was needed was a miracle tomorrow.


	16. Chapter 16

16

Good god. First day back and a massive oversleep. Bernie tumbled into the shower, brushed teeth, pulled on some clothes and ran out of the door. She fumbled frantically in her pockets – where were her car keys? She ran back to the flat, which was handy as she had forgotten the bottle of wine she had brought back for Serena. Christ – still unwrapped. She could stop somewhere on the way and get something to put it in. The car keys refused to reveal themselves and there was no more time to rummage. Thankfully a black cab darted past within minutes of running onto the street.

"Taxi!"

"Okay love, where to?"

"Holby City Hospital, but can you stop somewhere on the way so I can get some..er..wrapping paper?"

"Sure thing love, hop in"

The cabbie pulled up outside a little stationery shop. Bernie leapt out of the cab and through the door. She was greeted by an ocean of cards, pens, folders; where was the bloody wrapping paper?

"It's just over there madam"

"Sorry – hadn't realized I was thinking aloud."

She snatched a sheet or three of gold crinkly paper and some sellotape.

"What can I put on it to make it a bit more –er, snazzy?"

"How about some of these crepe curls – they are.."

"Yes, fine. Thanks. Keep the change."

The cab pulled into the driveway of the hospital. Her wrapping job was perhaps a little crude but at least it reflected some effort at presenting a surprise….

The fight with the sellotape was not going particularly well. She saw the cabbie frowning at her through his rear view mirror

"Sorry, just two minutes?" ….

FOOTNOTES

The immediate prequel to this story is Holby City series 18, episode 51

The story continues in Holby City series 19, episode 7 and thereafter.


End file.
